


Unseen

by razztaztic



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), TW: sexual assault and violence, previously published on FFN, supernatural (in theme not the show)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 41,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razztaztic/pseuds/razztaztic
Summary: *2nd Place 2016 MFA Awards Favorite Bones fanfic*The spirit of a young girl watches as Booth, Brennan and the rest of the team work to bring her killers to justice.Originally published the summer of 2011, over a year before "Ghost in the Machine."  I'm not saying.  I'm just saying.
Relationships: Jack Hodgins/Angela Montenegro, Seeley Booth/Temperance Brennan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 42





	1. Unseen

_._

_._

_. . . . . Why are you nice to me?_

_Because they think they get away with it._

_. . . . . What?_

_They burn their victims. They blow them up. They toss them in the ocean. They bury them in the desert. They throw them into wood chippers. Sometimes, you know, years go by. They relax. Then they start living their lives like they didn't do anything wrong, like they didn't spend somebody else's life in order to get what they got. They think they're safe from retribution. You make those bastards unsafe. That's why I'm nice to you._

_._

_._

_._  
  
After a while, it stops hurting.

I wish I could say I went somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

I wish I could say that I left my body lying there while my soul floated freely. Above the violence, above . . . everything.

But that would be a lie.

The truth is, I felt it all. Every blow. Every slap. The fists. The teeth. The boots. Everything.

And I saw it all. The first time I closed my eyes, one of them slapped me until I opened them again. He screamed at me to keep my eyes open. He told me that he wanted me to see.

That's when I knew I was going to die. They don't let you see them when they hurt you and allow you to live.

So, I watched. I watched as they . . .

No.

I don't like to think about what they did. Remembering is like living through it again. Once was bad enough. Once killed me.

There were five of them. It felt like more but they made me watch, so I counted. Five.

I knew one of them. We were in homeroom together. He only looked at me once. After that, he kept his eyes closed when . . . when it was his turn.

After a while, it didn't hurt anymore.

I still felt it. I still felt everything. But it was like touching a keyboard or a light switch. I felt it but it didn't hurt anymore.

I don't know why. I've had a lot of time to think about it and I still don't know. It was like, the part of my brain that feels pain stopped working. Like it blew a fuse, maybe.

But I could still see everything because they wouldn't let me close my eyes. Even at the end, when the big one took his knife and cut away a piece of my scalp, it didn't hurt. He held it up and I saw it dangling from his hand, a long pale blonde lock of hair attached to a bloody piece of skin. He shouted something about cowboys and squaws but I wasn't listening. I was staring at that almost silver curl dangling in the breeze.

I always loved my hair. I had such pretty hair.

When they were finished, they dumped me in a hole. One of them grabbed my hands and another grabbed my feet and the two of them tossed me in like so much garbage.

The boy I knew from homeroom picked up a shovel and started throwing dirt over me. He moved fast, like he was in a hurry to cover me up.

The big one, the one with my hair, he looked right at me and said, "We're done with you, bitch." Then he knelt down next to the hole and he leaned inside. He had a knife in his hand and it flashed silver before it slid across my throat.

I felt it. I felt the skin open and the warm blood spurt.

And I heard him laugh, just before he stood up and walked away.

Then the dirt covered my face and at last, I could close my eyes.

.

.

.

I never realized how quiet the world could be until I left it.

I still remember the very last breath I took. I was sitting on top of my grave, listening as my body struggled to breathe through the dirt. It sounded painful so I whispered to myself, "Shhhhhh. It will be all right."

And then it was over. The girl I had been for 15 years was gone.

The first night after I died was the longest. It was the first time I had ever stayed up all night.

I watched the trees surrounding the field disappear as they were swallowed up by darkness. I saw animals creep cautiously into the moonlight. A coyote wandered near my hill, sniffing at the ground until it reached the mound of dirt that covered my grave. His paw scraped into the top layer and then suddenly, he stopped and looked at me. Really looked at me, like he could see me sitting there, watching him back. He whined once and ran away.

I got used to the quiet.

Time passed. The heat of summer turned the grass yellow and rain made little streams of mud in the dirt. Fall came and the trees turned gold and scarlet. Then the snow fell.

Then it all happened again.

And again.

And still I sat there . . . on my grave . . . watching it all.

.

.

.

One day, a man and woman in a big truck stopped next to my field. They parked in the grass and climbed the hill and stood right next to me, staring at the same trees I'd been watching for three years.

"This is it, Mark! Look at this view!" The woman had blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and looking at her made me sad. I used to wear my hair like that, in a long swoop that swung back and forth when I walked.

She seemed very excited and the man, Mark, seemed happy to let her be excited. They stood beside me and talked about their new house and bedrooms and bathrooms and windows. I was afraid they would step on my grave but they didn't. They stayed for a long time but finally they left and my world was quiet again.

It didn't stay quiet, though.

They came back and when they did they brought other men with them and they all climbed the hill and turned this way and that way and hammered wooden stakes into the ground while she walked around and pointed out where she wanted all the rooms. When everyone left, my grave was surrounded by those little poles.

A few days later, there were even more men with larger trucks. One of the trucks had a big metal bucket and that truck climbed my hill, too. Then it started to dig, carving deep furrows in the ground as it scooped up grass and rocks and dirt. It made me sad, what they were doing. My little hill looked wounded.

It scared me, too, because with every bucket of earth the truck lifted away, it got closer and closer to me. To my bones.

The animals had never come any closer than the edge of my grave but this truck couldn't feel me or see me or sense me. I couldn't stop it. I tried. I stood up and I yelled as loud as I could but no one heard me.

No matter what I did, I couldn't stop it from uncovering my bones.

When it finally happened, I could tell by their confusion that the men weren't sure what they were looking at. They crept closer, like they were afraid I might jump up and yell "Gotcha!" I wanted to. I wanted to rise out of my grave like a skeleton in a horror movie and send them all screaming as they ran away.

But I couldn't. I could only watch as they finally accepted the truth of what they'd uncovered. One man fell to his knees and crossed his chest and began to pray. Another cursed and stomped his feet and threw his hat on the ground. A third man took out a cell phone and walked away, down the hill and away from me.

Within a few hours, most of the men and all of the big trucks left until finally, the only person still there was the man with the cell phone. I guess he was waiting for the police because they were the next people to show up. When a man and woman got out of a big black SUV, the last workman pointed up the hill, toward my grave. Toward me.

This new couple approached quietly, talking to each other in voices I couldn't hear while everyone else followed behind. She had dark hair and pretty blue eyes and he was tall and handsome and stood out from the rest because he wore a suit instead of ugly black coveralls. The woman knelt down to look at what was left of me while a man with a camera walked around taking pictures and measurements. After just a few minutes, she started calling out instructions and then the others, except for the handsome man in the suit, went to work. They were so careful and their hands were so gentle as they brushed away dirt and grass until my grave was open and I was exposed to the sun for the first time in three years.

"Bones?"

The question came from the man in the suit. He was standing on the other side of the hole where I'd been buried, watching her.

I was confused. Of course I was bones. I'd been in the ground for three years and although I had managed to keep the animals from desecrating my grave, the insects that lived in the dirt had done their job well.

She didn't seem to think the question was strange.

"Adolescent. Caucasion. Female." She studied each new bone as she picked it up. "Posterior dislocation of the right femoral head." She lifted my skull with gentle hands. "There are tool marks on the frontal bone, approximately 3 centimeters from the left coronal suture."

I didn't know what any of that meant but I liked listening to her deep, quiet voice.

My bones were packaged and put in a long narrow box and when the box was carried to one of the vans parked at the bottom of the hill, I went with it. I looked back once and for just a minute, I thought the man in the suit could see me. It felt like he was looking at me. But then he turned back to the blue-eyed woman and the illusion was shattered.

So I left with my bones.

I was finally free of my hill. I was finally free of my grave.

But I wasn't totally free. Not yet.


	2. Light

**_From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all.  
Ralph Waldo Emerson_ **

.

.

.

At first I was confused. They'd taken my bones to a museum. I recognized it from field trips. Why had they taken me to a museum?

I quickly realized they weren't taking me to the exhibit halls I'd seen before. The big truck that carried my box drove past the familiar front doors, away from the tourists and the visitors and into a garage that opened deep underground. Long hallways led back up, to a room that reminded me of the science lab at school. It was open and bright and there were machines that hummed and beeped and tables that gleamed silver under the lights. My box was lifted carefully to one of those silver tables and a young man stepped over to open it. He was cute, I thought. I liked the way he wore his almost blond, almost brown hair carefully messed up on purpose.

She was there, too, the dark haired lady from my grave. Right after my box arrived, she was beside me, lifting my bones out gently, treating me with care and respect.

I thought she looked sad but I'm sure I was mistaken. Why would she be sad for me, for someone she didn't know?

There were other people there, too, and I couldn't help but notice how she drew them to her. They stood beside her and around her and in front of her and when she spoke, they listened, and when she gave instructions, they obeyed. I looked around the room, at the light filled space, and I understood. She was the center, this beautiful blue-eyed woman who treated the dead with so much care. This was her world and now that I was in her world, I belonged to her.

It felt nice to belong to someone again. I felt reassured.

No, that's wrong. I felt safe.

Since she'd claimed me, I claimed her, too, because if I was part of her world then she was also part of mine.

Another woman, tall and thin and beautiful with a shining cap of black hair and deep dimples in her cheeks, spoke.

"I may be able to get usable DNA from the marrow. That could help identify her."

"The bones are stained from the minerals in the soil and there is no tissue remaining." My dark haired lady's voice was even and expressionless. "I estimate the body was placed there approximately three years ago."

I knew exactly how long I had lain beneath the dirt. I whispered the date of my last breath but the sound was lost in the space between the living and the dead. I like to speak out loud sometimes. Even if no one else can hear me, I want to hold on to the memory of a time when I had a voice.

A third woman appeared. She was pretty, too, with long dark hair and tilted eyes. She climbed the steps up to the platform where everyone stood around my bones and stopped beside a man with short, curly hair. He smiled at her and she smiled at him and I could see shimmering threads of gold connecting them.

It was fascinating.

Up on my hill, away from people, I had never seen that happen before. I looked around and for the first time, I noticed the faint halo that surrounded the living. Around some of them, the light was smooth as it swelled and contracted and trembled. Around others, though, wispy tendrils reached out, swaying and stretching before they faded away, like they were searching for someone.

For this couple, this dark-eyed, pretty woman and the curly-haired man with the brilliant blue eyes, the light connected and formed a tightly woven braid. Where the strands touched, they pulsed even brighter. It was beautiful.

"Angela," my lady said, and so I knew the woman's name. "When the bones have been cleaned, I'd like you to make the facial reconstruction your priority. If we can get a face for her, we can give her a name."

She could give me a face? I focused on the woman named Angela with new interest.

Suddenly, she looked past my lady to the spot where I stood beside my bones. Her eyes swept to the left and right but then came back immediately to the center . . . to me . . . almost as if she could see me. I reached toward her with one hand. She swallowed and shivered and took a step back but her eyes never left the spot where I stood.

"Ange?"

She finally looked away, rubbing her hands over her arms as if she felt cold. I saw goosebumps under the dark honey of her skin.

"Of course," she said. "Whatever I can do."

Her eyes flickered toward me again before she hurried back down the steps. The threads that joined her with the curly-haired man followed after her, stretching and shimmering, floating on the air like dandelion seeds.

Everyone else continued to work, following the instructions of my dark-haired lady. As they spoke to each other, their names were revealed to me. She was Dr. Brennan and the woman with the dimples was Dr. Saroyan. The cute young man was Mr. Bray and the one with curly hair was Dr. Hodgins. I was surprised when he mentioned that all of the dirt from my grave would be arriving and that he would sift through it to find out more about me. What could they find in old dirt except bugs?

Dr. Brennan was looking at one of my bones when the light around her began to hum and expand and glow brighter. She looked over her shoulder as the handsome man from my grave climbed the steps and walked up beside her. Thick ribbons of energy pulsed between them, dancing and weaving together in a pattern that throbbed with color. Shards of blue and green and red circled them and surrounded them and through it all, sparks flashed like fireworks in the night.

Dr. Brennan frowned at him. "It is much too soon for me to be able to tell you anything useful, Booth."

Now I had a name for him, too. He didn't seem to care that she frowned. He just shrugged and put his hands in his pockets.

"I know, but I figured I could at least do my waiting here."

He was very handsome when he smiled and even though Dr. Brennan just rolled her eyes, I noticed the light around them pulse brighter. It made me happy, seeing those golden threads twinkle and dance between them. I could tell they belonged together.

And so I claimed him, too.


	3. Discovery

**_The beginning of knowledge is the discovery of something we do not understand.  
Frank Herbert_ **

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.

.

.

.

I sat on my grave for three years. After those long hours of the first night, time sort of faded away. Except for the changing of the seasons, I let it slip by without much notice.

Morning came and then night fell and then it happened again. Day after day. Night after night.

I didn't feel the cold or the snow or the rain. The hot Virginia sunshine left me untouched.

I had nowhere else to go so I never tried to leave my hill. I didn't know the rules of death. I didn't know if I were allowed to leave my body and the not knowing kept me chained to my grave.

And there I stayed, alone, until the dark haired lady and the handsome man took me away.

In this new place, in the part of the museum that wasn't a museum, I was definitely not alone. There were people everywhere, always moving, always talking, always busy. I watched them work with my bones . . . cleaning them, taking pictures of them, looking at them under microscopes.

Bits of what used to be me were scattered among Dr. Brennan's people. At first, I was afraid of losing them . . . afraid of losing what was left of me . . . so I tried to follow each small piece until I realized that even as a ghost, I couldn't be everywhere at once.

But as I tried to follow those tiny fragments of bone, I realized I could go anywhere.

And so I did.

I stayed with Dr. Saroyan for a little while and by listening to a phone call she made, I found out her name was Camille. When I was five, I had a doll named Camille. I loved that doll.

I watched her work for a few minutes. She seemed to spend a lot of time writing on forms and using her computer and I was soon bored.

So I drifted away.

I found Dr. Hodgins next. I could see the light that surrounded him stretching out in cobwebby threads, looking for Angela. He didn't notice. The dirt from my grave had arrived and he was sifting through it. He was so careful. So thorough and methodical. All for me. I was touched.

He pulled a single long blonde strand from the dirt and when he laid it down I saw that he had collected several of them and together, they formed a thin, pitiful lock of my hair. I felt an ache of regret as I stared at it. My hair used to be beautiful.

The light around him brightened just before Angela entered the room. He looked up and smiled.

"Hey, babe."

"Getting anything out of there?" She nodded toward the mounds of earth he had already worked through.

Dr. Hodgins waved toward the metal tray.

"She was blonde."

Angela looked at my hair, too, and her face was sad.

I eased back to watch them. Their lights were connected again and for a moment, I was transfixed in the shimmer. The pattern was different than the one that linked Dr. Brennan and Booth. The glow around Angela and Dr. Hodgins was calmer, I thought. The threads danced together peacefully without the explosions of brilliant color and the swirling flashes that surrounded the other couple.

"I bet she was pretty." Angela was still staring at my hair. "A pretty girl with long blonde curls. And she ended up all alone in a hole in the ground."

Dr. Hodgins walked around his table full of dirt and pulled her into his arms. As they hugged, their light formed a web that covered them in a glittering net of gold.

I couldn't resist trying to touch it. I stretched out my hand to the flickering bits of flame, just to see if it was as warm as it looked. When my fingertips were hardly more than a breath away, Angela suddenly gasped and straightened. The net fractured into tiny sparkling shards as she stepped back.

"Angie?" Dr. Hodgins' light hummed brightly as he looked at her with concern.

She was rubbing her arms again, chasing away goosebumps.

"It's nothing. I'll let you get back to work."

She looked for one last time at the threads of my hair, then kissed his cheek and walked out.

Dr. Hodgins watched her go, worry in his eyes. Then he, too, studied those tragic, thin strands he'd found lost in the dirt.

"I know what it's like to be buried in a hole," I heard him say quietly. "And we'll find out who put you there. I promise."

I could tell that I mattered to him. Even though he didn't know me, he cared about what had happened to me.

And so I claimed him as mine, too.


	4. Unexpected

**_The rainbow comes and goes, and lovely is the rose.  
William Wordsworth_ **

.

.

I hadn't really thought about Dr. Brennan's office, about what it would look like. If I had, I would have pictured a doctor's office. Unforgiving bright light. Diplomas in simple frames hanging on white painted walls. Rows and rows of books titled with words I couldn't pronounce.

I would have been wrong.

There was a light in the ceiling, I noticed, one of those ugly florescent flat rectangles. But it was dark, and the soft glow that lit the room came from tall lamps that stood in the corners and short lamps perched on tables and one pretty, old fashioned lamp that sat on her desk.

Oh, there were plenty of books with unpronounceable titles, many of which had her name listed as the author. And there were diplomas and certificates and awards in heavy, dark frames that were scattered on the walls and propped up on shelves.

Mostly, though, she was surrounded by artifacts from the dead. Cups and bowls carved crudely from wood. Urns marked with the symbols of a forgotten language. Pendants fashioned from stones polished smooth by water and time. And here and there, bones. From people? From animals? Sometimes, I couldn't tell.

But occasionally as I explored her space and her possessions, I felt . . . something . . . vibrating around an artifact. My hand hovered over a dagger with a twisted, black handle and I felt an echo of the hatred and revenge for which it had been created. I lingered next to a thin narrow bone and listened to the laughter of a child. My fingers reached toward a shining green oval and I saw the flash of a woman's smile as the braided leather rope from which it used to hang was lifted over her head.

When I entered her office, they were working at her desk, Dr. Brennan and Booth. She was reading from her computer and writing on the papers under her hand. He had pulled a chair close to the end of her desk and was sitting with her, in silence, with an open file in front of him. Every once in a while, he would write in small cramped letters in the margins of a page or underline a passage. He held his pencil loosely between his fingers and let it tap against the desk as he read. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She glanced at him when the tapping started, then turned back to her computer when it stopped. When it began again, her hand shot out to cover his.

Understanding dawned on his face.

"Sorry." He grinned as he apologized and I thought he probably earned a lot of forgiveness with that smile.

She gave him what she probably thought was a stern look and turned back to her computer but the light that surrounded them pulsed brighter and the colors danced merrily and I knew his smile made her happy, too.

He lowered his head back to his file but I saw his lips curve slowly and his eyes slide in her direction. He waited a beat . . . and another . . . then tapped the pencil again. This time, when her hand reached out, he was faster. He grabbed her fingers and held on.

She shook her head at him.

"I need my hand to work, Booth."

"Say please," he said, and that lovely smile was back.

She bit her lip and fought laughter and the bands of gold that twisted and curved around them hummed and widened and shimmered.

"Please." The tiniest bit of a smile of her own slipped through.

"Pretty please." His face was happy and his eyes were shining and his thumb lightly stroked over her fingers.

She laughed and tugged at her hand and I had to close my eyes as their light blazed hot and filled the room. I couldn't help but wonder how it was possible that they couldn't see the brilliant color that surrounded them.

That was what love looked like, I decided. I watched the luminous waves flicker and swirl and sparkle, weaving and spinning together as each diamond-tipped flash of light stretched out and became another thread in the pattern that connected them.

He kissed her fingers and released them and the twinkling design deepened and grew stronger.

She shook her head and pushed softly at his shoulder in a gentle scold, then turned back to her computer. I noticed, though, that she glanced at the fingers he had kissed when she placed them on her keyboard and I smiled.

I knew they were happy and that made me so happy I laughed.

Both of them looked up. It was almost as if they'd heard me.

They glanced around the room and then at each other. She was quick to turn back to her computer, a frown between her eyes, but his back straightened and he kept looking over his shoulder. He finally picked up his file and started reading again but I noticed that he continued to cast furtive glances behind him.

A few more minutes passed, then her hand reached out for his. Their fingers joined as they continued to work in silence.

Even though they didn't know I was there, being with them felt like home.


	5. Companions

**_It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more  
JK Rowling_ **

.

.

.

The only real surprise was that I was surprised. In a place built to remember those who lived before, I should have expected to see others like me. Especially here, where Dr. Brennan put so much effort into caring for the dead. Of course there would be others.

But none of that occurred to me until I saw them.

At the end of the first day away from my hill, the sunlight faded into twilight and her people left and then she left, walking out with her arm tucked in Booth's. Even though it was late, it wasn't completely dark and the space wasn't completely empty. Guards with badges and guns walked through the rooms. They nodded at the people who were still working and then said goodbye as those people finished their tasks and began to leave. The guards rattled locked doors and tested secured cabinets and then ambled off to do the same thing somewhere else. I had almost decided to follow one of them, just to see if I could, when something made me look back.

A man stood several feet away. He had skin the color of burnt charcoal and dark hair streaked with silver that was twisted into uneven braids and curls. He wore a grey cloak and old fashioned light brown robes and below the hem, his feet were bare.

And he was looking at me. Not just in my direction and not through me or around me or above me. He was looking at me.

He could see me.

"You are one of hers."

I wasn't sure if his voice existed only in my head or if that deep timbre was as loud in the silent room as it sounded. But I nodded, because I knew instinctively what he meant. There was only one person he could be talking about.

"Are you one of hers, too?"

I'm not sure why I whispered but it felt appropriate to speak to this man in whispers.

He smiled.

"No, child. I am one of the lost."

He turned his back on me and began to walk away. After a few steps, he looked over his shoulder.

"Come."

I hurried to catch up.

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"My name has long been forgotten." It was a strange answer but he added a smile so I knew he wasn't upset that I asked such a rude question.

He led me to a long hallway lined with white boxes filled with more bones and standing in front of those boxes, watching us as we passed by, they waited. The others.

When the narrow corridor opened into a square room layered to the ceiling with even more boxes and even more bones, they moved in, too, until they surrounded us. I turned slowly in a circle, looking at the boxes and at the people looking back at me.

"Is there someone for every box?"

My guide shook his head. "No."

An old woman in a long pale gown stared at me. "Are you hers?"

I knew she meant Dr. Brennan.

"Yes."

Whispers moved through the room like wind blowing in the leaves of a tree.

"I'm hers, too," said a small boy in old-fashioned cuffed denim jeans.

A young woman standing next to him sighed and twirled a long curl that lay over one shoulder.

"I am one of the lost." She wore a floor length white gown, belted loosely at her waist with a strip of braided cord. It left her arms bare and fluttered around her sandal-shod feet.

I didn't understand. I looked at my guide again.

"What's the difference? What does it mean, to be one of the lost?"

"To be lost means only the Great Spirit remembers your name."

The rumbling voice came from behind me and I turned to see a tall, russet-skinned man staring down at me. He had two streaks of red paint on one cheek and across his bare chest and the long, rectangular piece of leather tied around his waist left his legs bare from his hips to the tops of the moccasins that laced up his calves.

A soldier in a low-brimmed hat and a dusty uniform with cavalry insignia on the shoulder stepped forward.

"I remember my name, Chief. It's . . ." He paused and glanced at my guide, too. "Josiah?"

When my guide nodded, the soldier nodded firmly.

"Josiah. See, I knew it was Josiah."

The Indian lifted one black eyebrow but before he could answer, my guide interrupted.

"To be lost is to be claimed by no one," he explained to me. "We are the old ones. Our names were lost long before our bones were discovered."

"Do you have to stay here?" I couldn't help looking at all of those boxes filled with bones.

"We are the most fortunate of the lost," my guide said. "Even without our names, our bones have many stories to tell. We stay here until those stories are told. Then we are buried with honor and we are lost no more."

"But why are some of you hers?" I still had questions. "What makes some of you different?"

"Some are hers because she has made them so. She has claimed them, to seek justice for them or to give their families the comfort of knowing what befell them. She returns peace to their rest and then sends them home."

Home? Where was home? What if you didn't have a home?

"Can I . . . can I stay here?"

When my guide looked at me, his eyes were sad.

"No."

"Why?" I liked it here with Dr. Brennan. It was safe.

"She will give you justice and then you will move on."

I stared at my feet, embarrassed. I didn't want anyone to know what had happened to me.

"How do you know I need justice?"

His old, lined face was gentle.

"Your story is here, child."

His hand hovered over my chest, and for just a minute, in the place where my heart had been, I thought I felt it beat again. Then he withdrew his hand and the feeling passed.

I didn't want to think about leaving when I'd just arrived.

"What if she never finds answers for me? Then can I stay?"

"She always finds the answers. You will go on. Home is waiting for you."

"But I don't know where that is!" My voice was loud in the quiet room. The others shifted closer as if they wanted to comfort me.

"You will know." The guide smiled. "When the time is right, you will know."

I wanted to be angry, with him and with all of them. It wasn't fair. They got to stay. I wanted to stay, too.

I remembered the moment in Dr. Brennan's office when she heard my laughter.

"Does she know that you're here? That we're here?"

"She believes she sees only our bones." There was a glint in his eye that said more than his words. "We allow her that belief and let our bones tell our stories."

I had another thought.

"Can I leave here? Is that allowed?"

My guide looked at me with steady eyes for a long time. I held his gaze, afraid that if I didn't, he wouldn't give me the answer I wanted.

"You may leave," he said finally. "But beware the danger. If you go too far afield, away from your bones or away from those who hold your bones, you risk losing your way back. You risk becoming one of the saddest of the lost, the ones without purpose or hope. The ones who wander forever."

I realized something else. "She holds my bones."

"Yes."

"So . . . I can go with her?"

"Yes."

I wanted to laugh again. I had left my hill and now, as long as I stayed with her, I could leave this place, too. It was almost like being alive again.

The guide out his hand.

"Come, child. We have been waiting this long day to meet you."

Warmth flooded through me as I laid my hand above his and allowed him to lead me into the midst of the others. They crowded around me, speaking their names and telling me their stories.


	6. Found

**_To live in hearts we leave behind  
Is not to die.  
~Thomas Campbell_ **

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.

.

Dr. Brennan was the first one to arrive the next morning.

She dropped her belongings in her office and then immediately went to my bones. Mr. Bray found her there just a few minutes later. She offered him a quick "good morning" before she drew his attention to me.

She placed my skull under a round lens that transferred the image to a monitor above the table.

"I've seen this before," she said, pointing to the marks the knife had left when my hair had been cut away. "On remains from . . ."

I was looking at the top of my head when she and Mr. Bray turned around.

"Why are you here today, Angela? This is one of your days off."

I glanced up as Angela and Dr. Hodgins came up the stairs and . . . oh!

_Oooooh . . ._

They had a baby.

Before I even knew that I'd moved I was beside them, looking at the tiny little boy wiggling in the carrier dangling from Dr. Hodgins' hand. He had eyes like his mother and his hair was full of curls like his father and oh, he was so very beautiful. I wanted to hold him so badly that it almost hurt.

I had to smile when I remembered that I'd thought of the glow that connected Angela and Dr. Hodgins as peaceful and serene because this, the bright explosion of light and color created where their entwined threads swirled around their son, was anything but peaceful and serene. Bursts of blues and greens and purples, fierce and hot and protective, blossomed in and around the thick golden ropes. I had the fanciful thought that if Dr. Hodgins let him go, the baby would just float there, hanging in mid-air, supported and rocked and held safe by the strength of that fiery web.

It was so lovely and I was so transfixed that I only remembered to pay attention to what was being said when Angela spoke.

"Wendell called to tell me he was done with the skull. I thought if I got here early enough, I could get it before you did and start the facial reconstruction." She rolled her eyes. "Obviously, I wasn't early enough."

Angela's disappointment was obvious even to me. Dr. Brennan looked at her for a moment and then nodded.

"I would like Mr. Bray to take a mold of the tool marks visible at the top of the frontal bone near the coronal suture," she said. "Then you may have it."

Angela smiled and the glow around her brightened.

"Thanks, Brennan."

.

.

.

She knew I was there with her.

Before, when I was alive, I'd heard of people like her. People who were . . . sensitive. People who were aware of the shadowy world that couldn't be seen. People who were open to the reality of life on a different level than the one on which we existed.

Angela was one of them. I could tell.

I stayed with her, watching as she worked with my skull. It was fascinating. She took measurements and attached what looked like pencil erasers around my facial bones and then took more measurements and entered everything into a computer she held in her hands. At the press of a button, a glass panel lit up in front of her wall. A skull appeared there and as she tapped away at her computer, tiny red dots spread out across it, and then lines connected the dots and crisscrossed the face.

"You're here, aren't you?"

I was so engrossed by the work she was doing that her whisper surprised me.

I looked around but there was no one else in the office. She was talking to me.

"I know you're here."

I moved closer so I could see her better.

"I can feel you." She continued to work. Click. Click. "I can't see you, but I can feel you in here with me."

Tap. Tap.

"I'm not afraid, you know." Click. Click. "Well, I'm a little afraid."

That made me smile.

"I'm a little freaked out," she admitted. "But I brought my son with me because I'm not really afraid, not deep down."

I looked over at the carrier where the baby slept, his fingers in his mouth. I was honored by her trust in me.

Suddenly, Angela's busy hands went still.

"I'm sorry." She stared down at her computer. "I'm sorry for whatever it was that happened to you, for whatever pain you suffered. I'm sorry that you were left alone in that hole." Her teeth tugged on her lower lip. "No one should ever have to go through that."

I remembered what Dr. Hodgins had said, that he knew what it was like to be put in a hole, and I watched as threads of the light that surrounded her stretched away and faded into the distance. I knew she was thinking of him, too.

With a few more clicks of her fingers, the skull began to change. Layers were added upon layers and a face began to take shape.

"Help me," she begged softly. "Help me get this right." A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Help me help you."

She brushed the tear away and kept working. More details emerged. Every so often, she would frown and her computer would click and some tiny line would adjust or move. The face in the glass became more definite. It began to look like me.

Awestruck, I stepped between Angela and the glass wall and stood directly in front of the image she'd created.

It wasn't perfect.

She'd made me prettier than I really was, I thought. My eyes were too far apart and she'd colored them blue instead of hazel.

I frowned because she'd given me bangs. I'd experimented with bangs once and hated them. When I looked behind me, Angela was scowling, too, and then with a click, the bangs were gone.

And there I was.

For the first time in three years, I saw the girl I had been before . . . Before. Tears blurred my vision, even though I knew they couldn't be real.

Ghosts can't cry, can they?

Angela was beside me.

"That's you, isn't it?"

For a few minutes we stood there together, staring at the face she'd created. My face. Then she sighed, nodded to herself and took a step back.

"Okay. Let's give you a name."

The image she'd made shrunk and in the rest of the space, she opened a new window. She clicked on her tablet again and dozens of faces flew by, one after the other, a kaleidoscope of eyes and hair and smiles that moved so quickly I could only catch glimpses of individual features.

Suddenly it stopped.

And there I was. The real me. The last school photo I had ever taken.

I was almost sorry she'd found me. I liked the picture she'd drawn. I liked that she'd made me so pretty. I didn't want her to be disappointed at what I really looked like.

I heard her in-drawn breath. When I looked at her, she was crying while she smiled.

"I knew you'd be beautiful."

That's when I realized the dead belonged to her like they belonged to Dr. Brennan.

And so I claimed her, too.

.

.

.

Angela climbed the steps of the platform and waited, silently, until everyone turned to look at her. Booth was there, too. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Angela and I could tell he could read the tension humming through her.

When all of the attention was focused on her, she lifted her chin.

"I found our victim."

She handed each of them a copy of the photo she'd printed.

"Her name is Anne."

 _"Annie,"_ I whispered, watching their faces as they looked at mine for the first time. _"My name is Annie."_

Angela took a deep breath.

"Annie. Her name is Annie Duncan."


	7. Sacrifice

**_"Life's most urgent question is, what are you doing for others?"  
Martin Luther King, Jr._ **

.

.

The guide had told me that I could leave, as long as I was careful. And he said that if I were with her, with Dr. Brennan, I was safe. I believed him. There was something about him that inspired comfort and trust.

But I was still nervous.

No. I was more than nervous. I was afraid. Going with her meant leaving my bones behind. For three years, they had tethered me to my grave. They were my link to the girl I had been.

That girl was gone. Forever. Seeing my face appear on Angela's glass wall made my death real in a way it hadn't been before.

So, I made up my mind. I would go with Dr. Brennan.

I stayed close to her for the rest of the day, afraid that if I wandered away I would come back and she would be gone and tomorrow, I might not be as brave.

It wasn't a hard task I had set myself, to stay with her. Angela left to get lunch for everyone and Dr. Brennan watched over the baby. She held him with the awkwardness of someone not used to holding infants but she still laughed and nibbled on his fingers and blew bubbles on his tummy and when Angela came back and opened her blouse to feed him, I caught a wistful expression on her face as she watched the mother and son.

After lunch, after Angela had gone home again, I followed Dr. Brennan down to the same room in which I'd passed the night, the room lined with the boxes of bones.

She counted down rows, looking for one in particular until she found it. When she placed it on the table in the middle of the room, I saw Josiah, the young cavalry soldier, standing behind her. I waved to him and wondered if those bones were his.

He tipped his hat at me but looked at her.

"Been a while since she looked at my old bones."

I guess my surprise showed on my face because he shook his head.

"She can't hear us," he reassured me as he came to stand beside me.

We watched as she picked up his skull and studied it carefully.

"Them Comanche got me good that day." She was taking measurements of something on the top of the white curve of his skull. "Cut my hair clean off. Lucky I was already dead."

I remembered the feel of the knife cutting into my scalp and realized she was comparing Josiah's wound to mine. I think Josiah realized it, too, because he gave me a funny look but he didn't say anything so I didn't either.

When Dr. Brennan was done, she put his bones away. Josiah gave me a funny little stiff bow as we left the room. When I turned around to say goodbye, he was already gone.

I didn't realize she was a genius until I spent the day following her around. She knew almost everything, and even if she had questions, they sounded more complicated than the answers she got in return. I'd always considered myself kind of smart. I got good grades in school and I always did okay on tests and I had planned to go to college. Watching Dr. Brennan, though, taught me the difference between smart and smart.

She spoke in an odd, formal way and used big words that reminded me of one of those word-a-day calendars. She was specific and literal and there was a rhythm to her slow, deliberate phrasing that captured everyone's attention. She was brilliant and I knew I was lucky to be one of hers.

At the end of the day, after Dr. Hodgins and Dr. Saroyan had left and she was alone in her office, Booth came back. She didn't notice him right away so he just stood in her doorway, watching her. I looked at him looking at her and for a moment, I was jealous because I knew no one would ever look at me like that. But then she saw him and smiled and he smiled back and their light was blinding and warm and my envy faded. I could see the love they shared. It was beautiful and I was grateful.

Dr. Brennan began to straighten the papers on her desk and close her computer.

"Were you able to find anything on Anne Duncan?"

"Yea." Booth put his hands in his pockets. I noticed he wasn't looking at her anymore.

She noticed, too.

"What did you find out?"

"I left the file in the car. I'll let you read it." He tried to smile as he put a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the door but it wasn't a very good smile.

She also noticed that.

"Why can't you just tell me what's in there?"

"You can read it," he said, and his tone discouraged her from asking again.

I remembered his car, a big black SUV, from their first trip to my hill. When he opened the door for her I slipped in as she picked up the folder lying on her seat. I hid in the back even though I knew they couldn't see me. Leaving my bones behind was the scary part and I couldn't help but worry as we left the museum. The guide had said I would be safe as long as I was with her, though, so I forced myself to put away my fears.

Dr. Brennan opened the folder as they drove away. I could see my photo clipped on one side, the same one Angela had given them. I heard her take a sharp breath.

"Three months? They waited three months before someone filed a missing persons report? Why would . . . Oh."

Booth was watching her, his glances sharp and quick as he drove. The light around him spiked in concern and where it connected with hers, the pattern undulated wildly.

"She was a foster child." Her jaw clenched and the air in the car rolled with her anger.

The paper snapped as she turned a page and then she looked at him, eyes wide.

"Her high school principal filed the missing persons report? Her foster mother didn't even notify the police that she was missing?"

She closed the file and left it lying shut on her lap as she stared out the window.

He reached for her hand.

"Hey."

"Three months, Booth. She was gone for three months and no one noticed." She sighed and closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the seat.

I realized there was something else in the car with us now. Pain. I could see it seeping from her in a dark shadow that dampened the glow of the light around her. It came from Booth, too, as he watched her. He was hurting for her and beneath that hurt was anger and frustration that he couldn't help her.

"I'm digging into the foster mother," he said quietly. "Her name was Justine Stanford. She was convicted of fraud for not reporting Anne Duncan missing and collecting the payments from child services. She was sentenced to two years but she died in prison after only few months." He squeezed her hand. "It's possible she didn't report Anne missing because she was the one who killed her."

Dr. Brennan shook her head.

"No. The evidence suggests we are looking for a male. I found tool marks near the coronal suture that suggest scalping. A scalp is a trophy and that is more common with male assailants."

"Whoa." He was surprised. "She was scalped? Like, cowboys and Indians?"

She started giving him a lecture on the history of the practice among Native Americans. I found it fascinating but he interrupted her.

"Was that the cause of death?"

No. I had been alive when the big one took my hair. Those few minutes had lasted forever.

"By itself, scalping isn't necessarily fatal," Dr. Brennan told him. "The folklore of the American west is that Native American warriors removed all of their victim's hair but the reality is they usually cut away only a small section of scalp as proof of their victory in battle. Frequently, the victim was already dead but there are several recorded instances of survivors. White soldiers and settlers were also just as likely to engage in the practice, especially when government officials paid bounties for the scalps of Indians."

"So, how did our victim die?"

"Mr. Bray confirmed that the tool that caused the scraping we found on the left side of the frontal bone, extending back along the parietal bone also made the mark we found on the C4 vertebrae."

I didn't know what any of that meant but he did.

"Her throat was cut."

"Yes."

"And that's cause of death?"

I felt again the weight of the dirt they'd tossed on my body, the pressure of each shovelful falling over me. I remembered sitting on my grave, listening to the body lying beneath me struggle for air. I remembered not having the strength to claw away the earth that covered my lips and my nose. I remembered giving myself permission to stop trying.

"That type of injury would cause death within minutes."

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

"Was she alive when she was scalped?"

I saw Dr. Brennan look down at their joined hands.

"Based on the amount of hemorrhagic staining of the surrounding bone, I feel comfortable concluding that the injury was antemortem."

They were quiet again as he slowed down in front of a large apartment building and headed down a ramp that led to an underground parking garage. The nose of the car passed an electronic eye and the gate opened and he drove inside and found a spot next to a little silver sports coupe. He turned the car off and they both sat there in silence until she finally leaned over and laid her head against his shoulder for a few seconds. Then she straightened, picked up the file and opened her door.

He watched her closely and kept a hand on her when we stepped into an elevator. Little touches – a hand on her back or on her shoulder or a long slide down her arm to grasp her fingers in his. I understood why. She seemed . . . fragile. Wounded. She was stiff, like a boxer who'd taken an unexpected blow and didn't want you to see that it hurt. But it was there, if you really looked. He could see it.

And I could feel it.

I wanted to touch her, too. I wanted to squeeze her fingers in mine and tell her I was sorry. Sorry that helping me was hurting her. But I could only watch and share her pain.

When the door to their apartment closed behind them, he pulled her into his arms and held her, and she let him. She didn't cry, she just leaned against him and accepted the comfort he offered. They stood there together for a long time and then he kissed her cheek and put the length of his arms between them.

"You go change or shower or whatever, and I'll do something about dinner."

He pushed her a bit in the direction of a long hallway. She rolled her eyes but she went and while he busied himself in the kitchen, I wandered around the space they called home.

It was a lot like her office, I thought, warm and welcoming and once again, filled with objects from the past. But signs of Booth were here, too. Big shoes by a closet door. A jacket flung over a chair. Sports magazines and a racketball racquet lying casually in view and an empty shoulder holster hooked on the top of an open door. It felt like home.

When she came back, she'd changed into a loose, pale green blouse and black leggings. He had heated a big pot of soup from the refrigerator and served it in huge bowls with thick slices of bread.

They sat around the angle of a small square table in the kitchen. He ate like he was hungry but mostly, she just toyed with the food in front of her until she finally pushed the bowl away. He looked at how little she'd eaten and then, with one finger, slid the almost full bowl back in front of her.

"You should eat." His tone suggested that arguing was pointless.

Her lower jaw worked back and forth and I could tell she wanted to argue anyway, but in the end, she picked up her spoon and took another bite and then a few more. When she pushed the bowl away again several minutes later, he didn't complain.

Dr. Brennan propped her elbows on the table and cradled a glass of milk in both hands.

"There are times I forget," she said quietly.

As if he'd been waiting for her to speak, Booth slowly and very deliberately laid his spoon down and looked at her.

"What is it that you forget?" The light between them glowed brighter.

"That I'm one of the lucky ones." That fragile, wounded expression was back. "I was. I am. I had my parents and Russ for 15 years, and they loved me. They did," she insisted, although he wasn't arguing with her. "What they did was wrong but I understand now why they left. I didn't at the time, but now I do. Now I understand."

She put her glass down and laid one hand on the table between them, palm up. He rested his larger hand on hers and their fingers intertwined and the waves of light danced around and between them.

"I survived." She was almost whispering and I had to move closer so I could hear her. "I made it through mostly unhurt. When I think of the horrible things that could have happened to me . . . "

They looked at each other and I knew they were thinking of me and suddenly, I understood.

Dr. Brennan was one of us. Forgotten children, tucked away in homes that weren't ours, living in borrowed space, afraid to put down roots where they'd never be allowed to grow. She knew what it was like to belong to no one and have no one who belonged to you.

She was one of us, and that was why Booth was so worried about her. That was why he watched her so carefully. That's why my pain caused hers.

The truth of the sacrifice she was making for me was staggering.

I had the answer to the question I didn't know I should have asked. _"To be lost is to be claimed by no one,"_ my guide had said.

She took so much care with the dead because she knew what it was like to be one of them. She knew what it was like to be lost.

"My time in foster care didn't define me," she told him. "I made a future for myself. I went to college. I built a life of my own. I . . . I fell in love." Her thumb rubbed across his knuckles and the glow around them surged. "It could have been very different. I could have been Anne Duncan."

Booth leaned in close and when he spoke, his voice was low and husky.

"That's why we're going to find out what happened to her, so that who ever did this can't steal the future from anyone else."

Ah.

They humbled me, this man and this woman who fought the battles the dead couldn't. The two of them and the extraordinary people they had gathered together, working for those of us who were unable to say thank you, who couldn't tell them how much it meant, how grateful we were to have such champions on our side.

Yes, they humbled me.

I could tell she felt better after talking to him. The light around them was different. It was smoother, less tumultuous.

They cleared dishes and leftover food and the rest of the evening was spent quietly. She read the rest of my file and asked him about some of the notes he'd made. He had questions, too, about some of the details it gave about my time in foster care. They talked about a meeting he had arranged with Mrs. Clyde, my high school principal.

When Dr. Brennan turned back to the beginning of the file to read it again, Booth took it out of her hands.

"That's enough for tonight, Bones."

He got to his feet, reached for her hand and pulled her up in front of him, then he framed her face in his palms and pressed the sweetest kiss on her lips. I heard her sigh and saw her lean into him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. I smiled and turned away and drifted over to the window to watch the lights of the city spread out in the distance.

Some things should be private, I thought. Even from ghosts.

.

.

.

Deep into the night, I peeked in to watch them sleep. He was lying on his back, his torso angled slightly away from her, and she was lying on her back, too, with her face turned to the window. In the space between their bodies, their fingers touched. I was charmed at the thought that even in sleep, they reached for each other.

Dr. Brennan's legs shifted restlessly beneath the covers. She bent her free arm over her forehead and opened her eyes and stared into the moonlight. After several long minutes, she pulled her hand away from his, swung her legs to the side of the bed and stood up. She was nude but that wasn't what caused me to slap my hand over my mouth as if she might hear my shocked gasp of air.

She was pregnant.

I had missed that, somehow. The loose lab coat or my selfish preoccupation with the work she did on my behalf . . . whatever the reason, I had missed it. While she slipped a robe over her shoulders and tied the belt loosely above the rounded curve of her belly, I scolded myself and promised that I would be more observant from now on, that I would be more deserving of her efforts.

She worked for the dead while she nourished new life in her body. There was a simple beauty there.

She carried her laptop to a small desk near the kitchen and turned it on. Looking over her shoulder, I noticed she'd opened the photo of me and kept it on top of the other documents and charts she worked with. It was an odd feeling, seeing myself looking out from the screen while I stood there, watching from the other side.

A little while later, Booth walked up. He didn't say anything but she knew he was there.

"I couldn't sleep." She swiveled in her chair to look at him. He wore only a loose pair of pajama pants and was bare-chested and handsome in the night-time shadows but she didn't seem to notice.

"Hmmm," was his only response.

She turned back to the computer but then abruptly pushed away from it again.

"I need to go to the lab." The look she gave him was defiant, as if she expected him to argue with her, but he just studied her for a moment. Then he nodded.

"Okay. I'll get dressed and drive you."

"I can drive myself," she told him. "You should go back to bed and sleep."

"I can sleep in your office." It was obvious he wasn't going to let her go alone.

She gave in.

"Thank you."

"Promise me you'll find time to take a nap later today." It wasn't a question.

"I won't allow myself to get overtired."

Even I knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"That's not what I said."

"I know."

"Don't make me worry about you."

That was enough. She gave in with a grudging promise to have an early night if she wasn't able to nap and, hand in hand, they went back to their bedroom to get dressed.


	8. Revelations

**_"The truth is not for all men, but only for those who seek it."  
Ayn Rand_ **

.

.

"Good morning! What did you find out . . ." Angela's cheerful voice dropped to a whisper when she stepped into Dr. Brennan's office and saw her lay a finger on her lips and point to the sofa. ". . . about Annie? Why is Booth sleeping on your couch? Have you been here all night?"

"I couldn't sleep." Dr. Brennan spoke in a low voice, too. "When I told him I wanted to come back to the lab, he insisted on driving me." She made a face at his sleeping form but the pattern of light that danced between them sparkled and hummed and it wasn't difficult to see that she was only pretending to be annoyed.

"He wouldn't let you come to the lab in the middle of the night alone. How shocking." Angela smiled and rolled her eyes and golden threads shimmered between the three of them, reaching out from her to Booth and Dr. Brennan, and from each of them to her. There was love there, too.

Three short beeps interrupted the quiet, coming from the phone lying on the table next to him. Eyes closed, Booth reached for it, silenced it with the press of his thumb and dropped it on the floor before he rolled to his side and turned his back to the room.

"Booth." Dr. Brennan called out to him after several minutes passed without movement.

He murmured something unintelligible and rubbed his cheek against the cushion beneath his head.

She walked to his side and put a hand on his arm. "You asked me to make sure you woke up when your phone's alarm went off. "

"I'm awake." He rolled to his back, eyes still closed.

"You don't appear to be awake."

One eyelid rose. "Better?"

"No." She smiled as she answered him and the light that joined them crackled and hummed as her fingers drew little circles on his shoulder. When I looked at Angela she was smiling at them, too, although I didn't understand the hint of smugness behind her grin.

"Hey, no one told me we were having a slumber party. I feel overdressed." Dr. Hodgins and Mr. Bray entered the office, too.

"And we're all really sorry we missed seeing you in your fuzzy bunny slippers, Hodgins." Booth yawned and sat up and as Dr. Brennan walked away, his eyes followed her.

Dr. Hodgins and Angela smiled at each other.

"Bug and slime guy," he said. "My slippers are fuzzy yellow bumblebees."

Mr. Bray snorted a laugh but Dr. Brennan only raised an eyebrow when she returned to Booth holding out a cup of coffee.

"I just prepared this but I think you need it more than I do right now."

"Did someone call a staff meeting without telling me?" Dr. Saroyan appeared in the doorway. Her voice was sharp and her eyes were irritated. "In case you've forgotten, I'm the boss here." She did that kind of thing a lot, I'd noticed, somewhat caustically insert her position of authority into conversations. I had also noticed that most of the time, as happened now, all eyes immediately went to Dr. Brennan.

Angela didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"Well, since we're all here," she said, "I'd like to know what you were able to find out about Annie."

She and Dr. Hodgins sat on the sofa with Booth, while Mr. Bray and Dr. Saroyan took single chairs. The atmosphere was friendly and easy and everyone seemed comfortable and relaxed.

Except for Dr. Brennan. She moved back to her desk.

It felt like a deliberate choice, to sit alone and separate herself from the rest of the group. Her movements were stiff and she paid too much attention to straightening pens and papers. I had the feeling that she was trying to buffer herself from what might be revealed about me.

Then suddenly, the light around her grew brighter. Booth got up from the sofa and crossed the room to perch on the corner of her desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and just like that she wasn't alone anymore. One side of his mouth curved up and the whisper of a smile crossed her lips in return. The tension I'd felt rolling from her in waves disappeared with a breath of air. His arms were crossed over his chest and while he didn't touch her, his support and strength wrapped her in braided ropes of gold.

Booth began to speak and as he told the group my story, the temperature in the room dropped. They watched him with serious faces and glances that occasionally darted to Dr. Brennan.

Except for Angela. The moment Booth mentioned that I had been in foster care, her eyes locked on Dr. Brennan. The love and concern she felt flowed across the room to merge with the warm, glittering net Booth had cast over the woman he loved.

When the room was finally silent, Angela was the first to speak.

"Brennan? Sweetie?"

Dr. Brennan glanced at Booth and the light between them pulsed.

"I'm fine, Angela. There are approximately half a million children in foster care in the United States. This isn't about me. I can't make this case personal just because it involves another foster child." She opened the file on her desk and held up my photo. "This is about Anne Duncan. It's about finding out what happened to her and finding the person who killed her."

"Okay." Angela's worry was obvious as she and Booth shared a glance and a silent, private conversation.

 _Take care of her,_ from Angela.

 _I am,_ from Booth.

When Angela saw his brief nod, her shoulders relaxed.

"Okay," she said again.

Dr. Hodgins cleared his throat.

"The initial estimate of three years fits with the insect activity I found in the soil. She was probably buried there right after she disappeared. I also recovered a few strands of hair and gave samples to Dr. Saroyan."

"The hair was too degraded for DNA analysis," Dr. Saroyan told them. "But if we had an old hairbrush or something of that sort that we knew belonged to the victim, I might be able to match other characteristics to the hair found in the grave for a positive identification."

The colors in the light around Angela spiked sharply.

"It is Annie Duncan," she said harshly. "There's no question of her identity."

"Yes." Dr. Saroyan's voice was soothing and calm. "But the more information we have, the better."

Dr. Hodgins broke into the tense moment.

"Wendell and I went back through every ounce of soil again and there's no clothing. Nothing - not a button, a hook, a piece of a zipper, not a shred of fabric. There should have been something. Three years in the ground isn't enough time to completely disintegrate fabric. Even natural fibers would have left trace evidence."

There was a moment of silence as they digested his words and what they meant.

"So her clothes were removed before she was buried." Booth spoke quietly in the hushed air of the room.

"That would be a reasonable supposition." Dr. Hodgins's eyes were on Angela. The glittering threads that connected them throbbed brightly.

"A young girl like this, stripped, killed and buried, that means a sexual assault." Anger simmered at the edge of his voice. He hadn't moved from his perch at the end of Dr. Brennan's desk but his body seemed coiled and ready to strike.

"The body was completely skeletonized." Dr. Saroyan's clinical reply was a deliberate attempt to inject calm into an atmosphere that had become anything but. "Without tissue, without DNA, we can't confirm that."

A pall hung over the room. I knew they were all trying very hard not to think about me, about what they suspected had happened to me.

Angela stood up. "I need to . . . " She took a deep, trembling breath and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't . . . " Without another word, she left the office.

Dr. Hodgins got to his feet, too. "I'm just . . . " He waved one hand and hurried after her.

The office was silent again.

Dr. Brennan cleared her throat and assumed a businesslike expression.

"Mr. Bray, I would like you to go back to the remains and look for any anomalies we might have missed. Pay special attention to the distal and intermediate phalanges and look for any micro-fractures that could indicate a defensive struggle."

He nodded his understanding and left.

Dr. Saroyan crossed to the desk and picked up my photo.

"She and Michelle share the same birthday," she said quietly. "So young." She looked into my face for a moment longer, then laid my picture down on the file.

Booth and Dr. Brennan watched her leave.

"Are you sure you want to come with me to interview this principal?" The expression on Booth's face said that he hoped she had changed her mind.

She hadn't.

"Yes."

It was obvious that he wanted her to stay behind, that he would have preferred to go alone and later, with carefully chosen words, tell her what had been said.

It was equally as obvious that she wasn't going to let him shelter her from the details of my past.

He knew when a battle was lost.

Resigned, he picked up the suit hanging from a hook on the back of her door.

"All right. Where's that shower?"


	9. Regrets

**_"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable."  
Sydney Smith_ **

.

.

I never expected to go back to high school.

I didn't hate it. High school, I mean. I didn't face each morning with dread and I didn't count down the hours until the final bell. School was just another place I had to be, a period of time I had to pass through, before I was free. It was just another step on the way to the different life I thought that one day I'd have.

Even when I was alive, I never thought that one day I would look back wistfully on my days at Northern Fairfax County Metropolitan High School and dream about wandering the halls again. Once I was dead . . . Well, I was dead. High school was over.

It felt . . . odd . . . to be there again with Dr. Brennan and Booth. There had been a few changes in the three years since I'd been gone. The walls were painted a different color. There was a new display case holding new trophies. Three more senior class group photos hung on the wall across from the office.

But some things hadn't changed. Homemade posters announced pep rallies and class elections. The harsh lemon scent of the cleaner the janitor used for the restrooms filtered through the air. The faint echo of balls hitting the floor came from the gym.

Life stayed the same. Life moved on.

There were bells on the door of the office and they tinkled cheerfully when Booth pushed it open. The smallish room was something else that hadn't changed. Announcements were taped to the front of the counter and flat boxes filled with forms and lists lined the top.

We had arrived in the middle of a class period so the only people inside were the women who worked there. They stopped talking and stared when we walked in.

"May I help you?"

I recognized the woman who stepped forward first. Miss Erma. She'd dyed her hair a shade of red so deep it was purple. The color was loud and jarring against the lined, parchment white skin of her cheeks. According to the stories she always told, she started working at the school when it first opened. She always said she planned on being the school's first ghost, too.

I guess she was wrong about that one.

Booth held out his badge.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. We have an appointment with Ms. Clyde."

That was the first time I'd heard their full names. Seeley and Temperance. I liked those names. They were unusual, like the two of them.

The women in the office exchanged a glance, then Miss Erma reached for his badge. She examined it carefully and even turned it over to look at the back before she returned it.

"I'll let her know you're here." She waved to the row of hard plastic chairs behind us. "Y'all have a seat."

Instead of sitting down, Booth and Dr. Brennan stood there, waiting, until Miss Erma came back. Ms. Clyde was right behind her.

She hadn't changed, either, I thought. She was tall and narrow, with silver-streaked hair that swung in a severe line just at the edge of her jaw. She always wore a uniform of sorts, usually simple suits in dark colors. Based on the black slacks she had paired for the day with a plain grey twinset, that was one more thing that had stayed the same.

"Mr. Booth." She came around the counter with her hand extended. "Dr. Brennan. Beatrice Clyde. I'm the principal here at NFC."

There was a little gate at the end of the counter that separated the parts of the office. Ms. Clyde held it open.

"My office is this way."

She led them to the back, past an open room with a wall of mail boxes and a copy machine that, for the moment, sat idle. She paused outside a small kitchen and gestured to a pot of coffee and an open box of donuts.

"Can I get either of you some coffee?"

When both Dr. Brennan and Booth said no, Ms. Clyde took a few more steps to her office and stood aside as they entered.

I'd never been there before so I looked around curiously. Her desk took up one end of the room, a row of filing cabinets lined the opposite wall and across from the door, a large window looked out over the student parking lot. Other than a few framed degrees and some plants spreading out from pots on top of the filing cabinets, there weren't any personal possessions. It felt cool and impersonal and I couldn't help but compare it to Dr. Brennan's. Even full of things that had belonged to people who were long-dead, Dr. Brennan's office was warm and welcoming. This office, for a principal whose job it was to lead young people, was neither. What that simple observation said about the two women, I don't know.

Ms. Clyde moved behind her desk as Booth and Dr. Brennan sat down in the extra chairs. She folded her hands and looked at them with a smile.

"Well, Mr. Booth, Dr. Brennan . . . What can I do for you?"

 _"Agent Booth."_ Dr. Brennan spoke first and the way she emphasized Booth's title and the bright sparks that lit the air around her spoke to me of the irritation she felt at Ms. Clyde's lack of respect for his authority. "Agent Booth and I are here about Anne Duncan."

She removed my photo from the file she carried and placed it on the desk.

Ms. Clyde's already pale face lost more color. Her fingers trembled, I noticed, when she reached out and pulled my photo closer to her. She cleared her throat.

"You're here to tell me she's dead."

"Yes," Dr. Brennan said bluntly.

Even though the day outside was sunny, the light in the room was dark and heavy. The sadness coming from Ms. Clyde surprised me. Although we had spoken occasionally, I didn't think she'd ever given me much thought. She sat back in her chair, one arm crossed over her chest and the other hand resting against her mouth, and stared at my picture for a long time. Then she clasped her hands tight and looked at Booth.

"What do you need from me?"

"What can you tell us about her?" His voice was quiet.

"Annie was . . ." Ms. Clyde swallowed and took a deep breath. "She was a sweet, quiet girl. She was never in trouble. To my knowledge, she didn't have problems with anyone. She was a sweet, quiet girl," she said again.

I guess there are worse ways to be remembered.

"You waited three months before you reported her missing." I could tell that Dr. Brennan was still angry. It came from her in waves and was visible in her narrowed eyes as she spoke to Ms. Clyde.

"I have twenty-three-hundred students in this school, Dr. Brennan." Ms. Clyde straightened her shoulders and became defensive. "When I noticed . . . when her absence came to my attention, I informed the authorities immediately."

"When you noticed?" There was scorn in Dr. Brennan's voice and the light around her turned harsh and sharp. I saw Booth's eyes flick toward her but he didn't interrupt.

Ms. Clyde raised her chin. "I get daily absentee reports. When Annie missed three days in a row, I was . . . concerned. It was unusual for her to miss school. I called her foster mother. Justine Stanford," she added, with a look at Booth. "Mrs. Stanford told me that Annie had been placed in a new home in a different school zone. It happens." She shrugged her shoulders. "Foster homes are not always the most stable environments."

Dr. Brennan stiffened and the light around her filled with shadows as memories crowded into anger at the cavalier dismissal of my life outside of school. But Booth was there, too, with warmth that chased away the darkness as it flooded her with support and love. She felt that calming peace wash over her. I could see it as it happened, in the slow, deep breaths she took.

"She'd been in the same foster home since the age of seven," Booth said to Ms. Clyde. "After such a long time, didn't that strike you as odd, that she'd suddenly be sent somewhere new?"

"Well, yes but . . ." Ms. Clyde briefly looked away from him. "There were two boys in the home also. I just assumed there had been . . . difficulties."

"Difficulties."

Under Booth's direct gaze, she shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

"Perhaps an incident . . . I thought she might have been removed for her own protection."

"But you didn't follow up." Ice crackled in Dr. Brennan's voice.

"I have 2300 students, Dr. Brennan." Ms. Clyde's tone grew sharp, too. "I do what I can do. When the semester ended, I was reviewing our records and I noticed that we hadn't heard from Annie's new school. I called her case worker to find out where I should send the file but he had no idea what I was talking about. As far as he was aware, Annie was still in Mrs. Stanford's home. That's when I called the police."

"She was classified as an endangered runaway?"

I could tell Ms. Clyde was unnerved by Booth's direct attention.

"Yes, but I told them that was wrong." She shook her head. "Mrs. Stanford changed her story. She told them Annie had run away but I told the police that was wrong. Annie wasn't . . ." She kept shaking her head. "Annie wasn't the type to run away. Some of these kids, you know, they just find trouble. But Annie was different. She was a sweet, quiet girl."

"And yet no one missed her for three months." Dr. Brennan let Ms. Clyde see the anger she felt.

"Not because I ignored her!"

Suddenly, the fury that heated the air came from Booth. I saw it flare up behind his narrowed eyes and when Ms. Clyde scooted back, I knew she'd felt it, too.

"I apologize for my tone," she said quickly. "As I said, I have 2300 students in this school. Annie was -"

"Invisible," Dr. Brennan interrupted.

"Unexceptional." Ms. Clyde sighed and her shoulders slumped wearily. "Annie was a good student, but not a great one. Her grades were acceptable but not extraordinary. She didn't . . . put herself out there. She didn't join any clubs or participate in any sports or do anything that would bring attention to her. She came to school every day. She did the work that was required. She went home."

"She was easy to ignore."

"I do the best I can, Dr. Brennan. I'm responsible for 2300 students."

"And now you have one less."

Without warning, Dr. Brennan burst out of the chair. I had an instant to decide whether to go with her or stay behind and of course, I chose to go with her. As the door fell shut behind us, the last thing I saw was the shock on Ms. Clyde's face and the concern on Booth's.

Dr. Brennan exploded out of the office, marching past Miss Erma and leaving the other women gaping at her back. Arms swinging wide, the clip of her boots echoed off the cinderblock walls as she stomped down the empty hallway. When she reached the door, she flung it open with such force that it crashed against the wall behind it. She was on the sidewalk below the steps before she stopped to breathe.

Arms crossed over her chest, she paced in front of the school. It was fast work to keep up with her.

When the door behind us opened, we both turned around. Booth pulled sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them on as he walked slowly toward us.

She waited, one foot tapping impatiently. The air around her rolled like clouds in a thunderstorm. When he reached her side, Dr. Brennan blew out a puff of air and started walking again.

They walked in silence for a minute or so.

"I lost my temper," she said.

Booth looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"You did not apologize for me." She dared him to say otherwise.

Lips pursed, he shook his head.

Dr. Brennan's shoulders drooped.

"I should apologize. It was unfair of me to target my anger at her."

She stopped walking and turned to face him.

"But someone should have cared, Booth. It shouldn't have mattered that she was _unexceptional,_ that she was quiet and simple. Someone should have noticed when she disappeared." Her eyes were full of bright tears, glimmering unshed as she blinked them away. "Someone should have cared."

Booth pulled her into his arms and tucked her head against his shoulder.

"We care, Bones. We care."

It mattered that they cared. It mattered to me and I knew it mattered to all of the dead who had come before and the ones who would come after. Somehow, I had to find a way to let them know. To tell them.

It mattered that they cared.

It mattered.


	10. Guardian

**_"These things I warmly wish for you  
Someone to love, some work to do  
A bit o' sun, a bit o' cheer,  
And a guardian angel always near"_ **

**_Irish Blessing_ **

.

.

They were arguing.

I watched and listened as anxiously as a small child hearing her parents fight. The argument was for me. I knew that, but it didn't make me feel better. It didn't keep my stomach from churning. In fact, it made me feel worse.

On the way back from my high school, Booth called someone named Shaw and asked for information about my case worker and my foster brothers. He wanted to know where they were now, what information was out there and how he could contact them. He kept looking at Dr. Brennan while he talked. His worry and concern clouded the glow connecting them.

I was worried about her, too. I could see the shadows under her eyes from the sleep she'd missed last night. I knew the interview with Ms. Clyde was weighing on her, that it had drained what energy she possessed. I knew she was thinking about me.

I was also irritated with Booth. I wanted to poke him. Couldn't he see how tired she was? He knew her better than I did. Couldn't he see how it was affecting her, this work she was doing on my behalf? He shouldn't have let her go with him to see Ms. Clyde. He should have made her stay behind. After all, it was his child she carried. He should be taking better care of her.

Then I remembered the look on her face when she insisted she was going with him to see my principal and suddenly I wanted to poke her, too. They were stubborn, both of them.

Booth's phone beeped as they arrived back at the museum – the lab, as she called it. He fell behind a few steps, reading the screen as he followed Dr. Brennan up to her office. When she threw an "I need to visit the ladies room" over her shoulder, he waited until she was gone before he sat down on the couch, pulled a small notebook from inside his jacket and dialed a number.

"This is Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI. Are you Dorothy Mayburn?"

"I was told you currently have two boys in your care, Abraham Lincoln Deerfield and Thomas Jefferson Deerfield." He looked down at his notes. "Is that correct?"

"No, ma'am but I'd like to stop by and ask them some questions about a young girl who disappeared three years ago . . ."

"Yes, that's right. Anne Duncan."

"Right now, I'd just like to ask them some questions."

"I'm sure they are, ma'am. What time do they get home from school?"

"Would it be all right if I stopped by at that time?"

"Thank you. I'll see you then."

He scribbled something in his notebook, glanced quickly over his shoulder and dialed another number.

"Miquel Gonzalez, please."

"Mr. Gonzalez, I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI. You were the case worker for Anne Duncan?"

"Yes. If you have a few minutes, I'd like to ask you some questions about her."

The sudden brilliance of the light around him warned me that Dr. Brennan had returned, but of course Booth couldn't see it. Without saying anything, she leaned in the doorway of her office and watched him.

"I can appreciate that, Mr. Gonzalez, but her remains were discovered a few days ago. Confidentiality rules no longer apply."

"Mr. Gonzalez?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, I appreciate that." He looked at his watch. "Do you have time for me to stop by your office this afternoon?"

He scribbled again in his notebook.

"Thank you. I'll be there."

He ended the call and dropped his phone on the table. One hand rubbed wearily over his face.

"That was her case worker?"

Maybe I was wrong, maybe Booth had known all along that she was listening. He didn't seem surprised when her voice broke the silence.

And he didn't look at her.

"Yea."

"What time are we meeting with him?"

Booth picked up his phone and let it bounce against the table as he flipped it in his hand.

"I'm meeting him at 12:30." He slipped the small notebook back into his suit pocket, clicked his pen closed and added it, too. Then he stood up and faced her.

And that's when the argument started.

"I'm going with you." Her jaw was rigid.

"Not this time." His was just as hard.

The air around them crackled with color and exploded with brilliant strikes of lightening.

"Don't coddle me, Booth!"

"I'm not coddling you! Look at you, you're dead on your feet! You're wiped out! Stay here and rest."

"That's the definition of coddling!" She was furious. "I'll rest on the drive there."

"No."

I was surprised she didn't stomp her foot. But I was on his side this time. She was exhausted. It showed and he was right to demand she stay behind.

"You can't stop me from going."

"Watch me."

"We're partners!" She was mad enough to raise her voice. "You can't stop me from doing my job!"

He yelled right back.

"I'm not asking this as your partner! I'm asking as the man who loves you!"

The air left her in a whoosh. Her mouth opened, then closed again.

The argument had been heard out in the hallway. Angela appeared in the door of the office.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Booth and Dr. Brennan turned on her fiercely.

"No!"

"Okay." Their combined shout had Angela throwing up her hands in self-defense and hastily backing away. "I'll come back later."

It worried me, the fierceness of this argument, the intensity of the emotion raging between them. I was afraid this fight to give me justice might damage what they shared. I stared carefully at the pattern of light that wove around them, looking for signs of fracturing or fraying. The ropes of gold were strong, though, and held fast as they twisted and knotted and turned and bound Booth and Dr. Brennan even closer as the glittering net closed over them.

His shoulders slumped and he took a step closer as he reached out to stroke the fingers of one hand down her cheek.

"Ahhh, Bones . . . baby, it was like watching you bleed to death from a thousand paper cuts. Don't make me do that again."

That was all he had to say. She could ignore her pain, but she wouldn't be the cause of his. He knew that, I thought, and it was a little underhanded of him to use it against her.

But it worked. She gave in.

"You know that paper cuts, even in that number, wouldn't actually be fatal."

"It would hurt like hell, though."

"Yes, it sounds quite painful." She didn't want to smile back, I could tell, but she couldn't stop herself, not when he was grinning at her with that fascinating half-grin.

"I'll call you as soon as I'm done," he promised. "I'll let you read my case notes. I'll even let you correct my spelling."

"Well, your spelling is awful."

When he pulled her into his arms, she reached up to adjust his tie then leaned her forehead against his shoulder. The light around them softened to a warm, dazzling rain of gold that floated over them in a shimmering curtain.

"You're right. I am tired."

His hands stroked her back as he kissed her.

"Get some rest. I'll call you. I promise."

He walked away but when he reached the door, her voice stopped him.

"Booth."

He waited . . . we both waited . . . but Dr. Brennan didn't say anything else. She just looked at him as the threads that connected them blazed hot with a humming pulse I could almost hear.

He nodded once.

"I know," he smiled.

And he was gone.


	11. History

**_Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.  
KJB, Luke 18:16 _ **

.

.

Dr. Brennan stared after him for several minutes and then, with a sigh, sat down heavily on the sofa. She clutched a pillow to her chest; a curious little smile crossed her face before she raised it to her nose and breathed deeply. She was still smiling when she looked over at the empty doorway.

I envied her the sweetness of that moment, breathing in his scent from the pillow he'd slept on.

When she stretched out, I left her drifting into sleep and wandered along the hallway without conscious direction. On my hill I had sat for years without moving, with nothing to do but watch the shadows of the trees move with the sun and the moon. Here, after just a few days, I was restless and looking for something to occupy the endless hours of the day.

I saw Booth coming out of Angela's office. She was at his heels.

" . . . a couple of hours, at least," he was saying. He spoke over his shoulder as he tripped quickly down the stairs. "No calls and don't let anyone go in there. Put a sign on the door or something."

"Got it." Angela hurried to keep up with him.

"And turn her computer off. She gets too much email and I don't want any noises waking her up."

"Okay."

"And . . ."

"Booth." Angela stopped him when they reached the bottom of the stairs. She spread her right hand over her heart and smiled at him. "I promise you that I will wrap her in a cocoon of silence. No one will disturb her."

He made a face, his expression a little abashed. When he looked in the direction of Dr. Brennan's office, sparkling threads of light pulled away from his wide shoulders and drifted off to find her.

His eyes cut back to Angela. "Take care of her."

He walked away and it was then that I realized I could go with him. They were connected, these two people. Him to her. Her to him. The guide had warned me about the risk of becoming lost if I went too far from my bones but I couldn't be lost if I stayed with Booth, could I? Dr. Brennan held my bones but she held him, too. If I were with him, I'd be safe. I was certain of that because I was certain that he would always come back to her.

It was enough.

I followed him.

.

.

I'd been there before, to the ugly square building filled with offices where the fates of children like me were decided. I'd never liked it. The lights were too bright and no one really smiled. The pictures of happy children and laughing families and the posters that encouraged everyone to keep trying, to climb the mountain or soar with the eagles were out of place in waiting rooms that were usually filled with crying babies and sullen teenagers and complaining adults.

Lucky for me, I had only been forced to go there a few times. After I went to live with Miss Justine, Mr. Gonzalez came to her house. He got double-duty out of those visits. He was able to see me, and the boys after they came to live with us, and at the same time he could cross off a home visit until it was time for the next one.

When I counted back, I realized it had been almost five years since I'd been there but when I followed Booth into Mr. Gonzalez' cramped little office, I couldn't tell that anything had changed. Mr. Gonzalez certainly hadn't. He was still short and round. He still had the same pointed mustache. He still wore his hair parted straight down the middle and he still liked to wear ties with short-sleeved shirts.

As he shook hands with Booth and waved him to a chair in front of the desk, I told myself I was being too harsh. Mr. Gonzalez had always been nice to me. I should remember that, too.

"I appreciate the time," Booth said as he sat down.

"Not at all," Mr. Gonzalez answered. I realized he looked sad. "Whatever I can do. Speaking of that . . ." He laid a thick brown folder on top of a stack of forms. "Here's Annie's file. I copied everything I had. I'm not sure there's anything useful there but I thought you might want it, just in case."

"Thank you." Booth left it lying on the desk and settled back in the uncomfortable chair. He leveled a close look at my caseworker. "According to my records, Anne Duncan was placed with Justine Stanford at the age of seven?"

Mr. Gonzalez took a deep breath.

"Yes. Her history is all there." He nodded at my file. "Annie's mother died of cancer when she was five. Her father was killed in a car accident eight months later. There was a grandparent, a grandfather, I think, in a nursing home. Alzheimer's. So she came to us." He shook his head and stared down at his desk. "We tried permanent placement at first, with an eye to adoption. A blonde-haired young white girl, it should have been a piece of cake. But it never worked. She'd scream all night long or become almost catatonic. Sometimes she'd refuse to speak or eat at all. The families always brought her back."

Memories crowded into my head.

Smiles that were too wide, that showed too many teeth.

Rooms that were too pink or too purple.

_"We're going to be your new mommy and daddy. Wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't you like to have a new mommy and daddy?"_

I didn't want a new mommy and daddy. I wanted mine . . . and they were gone.

And then there was one night when I'd woken up to find the man who called himself my new daddy sitting on the side of my bed with his hand on my knee. That's when I screamed, and once I started it felt so good that I just kept on screaming.

"We did that four, maybe five times and then we put her with Justine Stanford as a temporary measure." Mr. Gonzalez was still talking. "When it worked, we thought maybe we should just let her stay."

I remembered when that happened, too. Sitting in a spotlessly clean living room with my small suitcase at my feet. Crocheted doilies on the arms of the chairs and the sofa and the tables. A black and white cat sleeping under a window. And Miss Justine, tall and thin, with a halo of short, grey curls, looking down her nose as she put a plate in front of me.

_"Some people get dealt some bad cards, that's a fact, and it looks like you're one of 'em. I ain't your mama, girl, and there ain't no daddy here, neither. But you can stay as long as you want to, unless you start that screamin' they told me about. You do that and they'll put you in a hospital and trust me, this is a better place. Now drink that milk while it's cold."_

Miss Justine and I, we understood each other. She didn't pretend to love me and I didn't pretend it mattered.

"You ever see anything unusual there, any hint of something wrong?" Booth had taken out his notebook and was writing as he spoke.

"No. Mrs. Stanford got her check every month and she was happy. She always wanted more money, she was always applying for any extra assistance offers that came up, but they all do that. I considered it a successful placement." Mr. Gonzalez shrugged before his shoulders slumped. "Annie was well fed. Her clothes were appropriate for the season and the weather. She went to school regularly." He looked at Booth. "That's a lot better than some foster kids."

"And the two boys? They were placed in the home later?"

"Yes, about five years later. There were other kids there, too, on a short-term basis, but TJ and Abe were the only long-term placements since Annie. They're brothers and since there was an extra financial incentive to keep them together, Mrs. Stanford was happy to take both of them."

"How old were they at the time?"

"Abe was 11, I believe. TJ was six. Agent Booth, I do have to be careful here. Without a warrant . . ."

"I understand." Booth kept talking and writing. "Were there any issues in the home after the boys were placed?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Any legal troubles, anything involving the police?"

"Agent Booth . . ."

"Right." Booth closed his notebook and slipped it back into his pocket. "In your opinion, Mr. Gonzalez, could one or both of the boys have had anything to do with Anne Duncan's disappearance?"

Mr. Gonzalez looked sad again. For me or for the boys? Or for all of us? I couldn't tell.

"My gut says no, Agent Booth, but I would never have believed Mrs. Stanford would lie about Annie's disappearance, either. I was shocked that she'd hide the fact that Annie was gone." His head shook back and forth. "Maybe I'm not the best person to ask."

Booth stood up and held out his hand.

"Thanks for your time." He offered a business card and picked up the file. "If you think of anything else, please call me."

"I will." Mr. Gonzalez stared at the card. "If there's anything else you need, if there's anything I can do to help Annie . . . She was a sweet girl. Life broke hard for her."

I could tell Booth was angry. His voice was sharp and curt.

"This wasn't bad luck. Anne Duncan was murdered."

He jerked the door open and left without saying goodbye. He walked quickly when he was angry and since he was taller and his legs were longer, I had to move fast to keep up.

When Booth got to his car, he opened the file Mr. Gonzalez had given him. He stopped when he found copies of my old school photos, from second grade to the last one taken a few weeks before I died. After looking at them for a few minutes, he closed the folder and tossed it on the empty passenger seat.

His hand slammed down hard on the steering wheel.

"Dammit."

When he put the car in gear, I knew where we were going.

It was time to see TJ and Abe.


	12. Loss

**_Only those who avoid love can avoid grief. The point is to learn from grief and remain vulnerable to love.  
John Brantner_ **

.

.

.

It was one of those old neighborhoods, the kind with wide streets and big houses set far back from the street behind big front yards. Rich people used to live there and when they all fled the city, poor people took over and the houses suffered. There were still a few with windows hidden behind graffiti-painted plywood but the area was making the slow climb back to respectability and most of those big houses had been converted to apartments and duplexes. Here and there, however, a few homes survived intact, left whole and renovated to their former glory.

It was in front of one of the last that Booth pulled to a stop. He checked his watch, checked his notes, checked his phone and then opened the door.

I almost stayed in the car. I was afraid to go up there, afraid of what I'd see, afraid of what I'd hear. In the end, though, I thought about TJ and I followed him. I had to know what kind of home he was in. I had to be sure.

The woman who answered the door was short and plump, and almost immediately I felt better. Her hair was cut so short it was just grey fuzz but her eyes were kind and her smile was sincere.

"Mrs. Mayburn? Special Agent Seeley Booth. We spoke this morning."

She gave his badge a careful inspection before she allowed him inside.

"He's not home from school yet," she said as he stepped into her entrance hall. "Come on back to the kitchen. I'll get you a glass of tea and you can tell me what this is all about."

Her kitchen was as wide as the house itself, bright and airy with a door at each end that opened to a porch that ran the entire length outside. Appliances and a long counter made an L-shape at one end of the room, with a double sink sitting in an island just a few steps away. At the other end, a large, well-polished table sat next to a wall of shelves filled with cookbooks and photos. It was homey and comfortable.

Mrs. Mayburn waved Booth to a seat at the table and brought over a glass tinkling with ice and freshly brewed tea. She made one more trip to retrieve a drink for herself and a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies, which she slid in front of him before she sat down, too. Her gaze was direct and honest.

"Now, s'pose you tell me what the FBI wants with my boys."

Booth responded with his own question.

"How long have they been with you, Mrs. Mayburn?" He took a sip of his tea but although he glanced at the plate of cookies, he left them untouched.

"A little more'n two years. They were split up before then, after the other lady went to jail. You know about that?"

When the old lady raised an eyebrow, Booth nodded.

"Well, you shouldn't split up brothers. It's wrong. I only had one boy here then, so I had room when they asked if I could take 'em both."

"How long have you been a foster parent?"

I was surprised that he wasn't taking notes. Instead, he just sat back and studied her as she answered his questions.

"Eight years, give or take." Mrs. Mayburn folded her hands over the mound of her stomach. "I have six kids of my own but they're grown and gone off now. Took my grandbabies with 'em, too," she grumbled. "And then my Willis died so it was just me rattling around in this big ol' house. I decided to put all this space to good use."

"How many children are here now?"

"Just TJ and Abe," she said. "I can take four, maybe five at a time. The good ones," she added quickly. "I don't hold with no nonsense. They go to school, they keep their grades up, they stay clean and outta trouble, and we're okay. They start any foolishness, they can go somewhere else." She crossed her arms over her chest and gave Booth a hard stare. "TJ and Abe are good boys. Whatever you're after, they ain't got it."

"Do you know anything about the girl who disappeared three years ago?"

"I heard a bit." She got up to refill her glass. "I heard that woman lied about that poor girl just to keep getting paid and I heard that sweet child ain't never been found." She sighed heavily as she sat down again. "Lord, Lord. The road to hell is paved with money, that's for sure."

Booth stroked his jawline with one hand and watched her.

"Do the boys ever talk about her? Anne Duncan, the girl who went missing?"

"Not to me. And I ain't asked about her, neither."

"Would you mind showing me their rooms?"

Mrs. Mayburn crossed her arms over her chest as she considered the question – and Booth - silently. Her dark, bright eyes traveled over him, from his short dark hair to the hands folded quietly on the table.

"I watch all those cop shows so I know I should be asking you for a warrant before I say yes," she told him. "But I'm gonna let you look without one because I'm telling you, they're good boys. I ain't afraid of you finding nothing." She heaved herself to her feet. "Come on."

She led him upstairs and down a long hallway to a door at the very end.

"They used to have their own rooms but about a year ago, TJ started having nightmares. He spent so much time in Abe's room, we just moved him in. He seems to sleep better that way."

When the door opened, I started laughing so hard I had to step back and cover my mouth to hide the sound, just in case.

Two long, narrow twin beds sat against opposite walls with a large window filling the wall in between. One of the beds was smooth and made up so carefully, you could have bounced a quarter off the blanket. That side of the room was ordered and straight and neat. An alarm clock sitting on a small table was lined up precisely in the middle and the sides of a book that lay in front of the clock were exactly parallel to the edges of the table. Some things never changed. How many times had TJ and I laughed and called Abe a fussy old lady because the first thing he did every morning, even before going to the bathroom, was make his bed?

TJ only made his bed when he was forced to so I knew the other one belonged to him. It was a messy jumble of covers and pillows and wrinkled sheets and his bedside table was a pile of crumpled candy wrappers, comic books and . . .

If I had been of solid form, I would have knocked Booth and Mrs. Mayburn over in my mad rush to get past them.

Next to TJ's bed, angled toward his pillow where he could see it when he was lying there, was a picture of us. Me, TJ and Abe. I remembered exactly when it had been taken, not long before . . . before I died. We were sitting on the floor in Miss Justine's living room around a game of Monopoly. She had one picture left on a disposable camera and she stood in the doorway and said, "Y'all turn around" and . . . snap, there we were. One moment captured forever. Abe had just landed on TJ's hotel-covered Atlantic Avenue and he was arguing about paying rent and TJ was laughing like he'd already won and I had money in my hand to loan to Abe so we could keep playing but TJ kept saying Abe was bankrupt so he was out of the game and . . . and . . . and we were so happy. We were so happy. It was all right there, inside that picture frame.

In the region where my heart no longer beat, the pain that couldn't be real was somehow worse than ever. In all the years that had passed since my death, I'd never wanted anything more than I wanted right then to be able to touch that photo. To be able to pick it up and hold it close to my chest. To hold it close and put my head down and cry.

Booth could pick it up, though, so he did while I watched with envy burning into my soul. Rashly, not even caring if he might notice or feel something, I put my hand over his and pretended I could feel that photo through his fingers.

Goosebumps rose under his skin.

"That's her, right? That's the girl that disappeared?" Mrs. Mayburn spoke from the doorway.

Booth nodded, put the photo back on the bedside table and rubbed his hand absently. He spent a few more minutes looking around the room, then he stepped out and followed her back downstairs.

I stayed behind for a long time, sitting on TJ's bed and staring at that photograph until I couldn't bear to look at it anymore.

When I returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Mayburn was sitting in her chair eating a cookie and Booth was standing at one of the doors that led to her porch, staring into the backyard, flipping something through his fingers. When the front door opened, they both turned around.

"Miss Dottie, I'm home!"

A voice rang through the house and before I could prepare myself, TJ rushed into the kitchen.

He came to a fast, sliding stop when he saw Booth. One thing we all learned pretty quick was how to recognize a man with a badge, even if you couldn't see it. And even if you hadn't done anything wrong, we also learned that you had to be careful around badges, just in case.

I drank in the sight of him. He'd grown so tall. Miss Justine had always made TJ wear his hair cut short but now it grew in wild abandon, in thick, glossy, tangled curls that stood up randomly around his head. He was all angles and pointed elbows and sharp shoulders, and he was still whippet thin, and his lashes were still impossibly long around huge dark eyes set in smooth toffee-colored skin.

And he was still beautiful, just as I'd thought the very first time I saw him. He'd been a scared, skinny little kid hiding behind his older brother, afraid to look at Miss Justine, afraid to look around. He was afraid to look at me, too, when she told me to show the boys their room. I knew exactly how he felt. I remembered being scared, so I told him all about how I'd come to live there. I just kept talking, all about Miss Justine, what she liked, what she didn't like. Of course, I was telling Abe, too, but Abe was almost my age and he already knew how to put up a face that didn't care so no one knew you were scared. He was so protective of TJ. He kept his body between us so I couldn't get too close. Abe didn't trust me yet, especially not with his little brother.

"TJ, I'm gonna beat you six ways to Sunday if you keep running in my house." Mrs. Mayburn's idle threat was obviously one she made frequently. "Sit down and I'll fix you a plate. This is Agent Booth. He's with the FBI and he wants to ask you some questions."

TJ walked slowly to the opposite end of the table and sat down. His backpack fell with a thud next to his chair. He never took his eyes off Booth, even when Mrs. Mayburn came back with a thick ham sandwich and a glass of milk.

Booth pulled a chair close to TJ and sat down. He leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped together between his knees. His voice was low and gentle when he spoke.

"TJ, I have to ask you some questions about Anne. Do you remember Anne Duncan?"

TJ went still, like an animal smelling danger. His eyes were so round, you could see a ring of white around the dark rises. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

"Can you tell me about Anne, TJ? Do you remember her?"

TJ's chin trembled as his eyes filled with tears. "Annie?"

_"Annie, I'm scared." TJ stood in my doorway wearing mismatched pajamas and flinching with every flash of lightening._

_"Well, come on over here." I kept my voice low as I scooted over to give him room to climb into bed with me. "But we've got to be quiet so we don't wake up Abe."_

_"He says I'm too old to be scared of storms." TJ burrowed under my covers and backed his warm little body against mine until he finally settled down._

_I tucked the covers around him._

_"Shows how much Mr. Smartypants knows. I read a book one time about a man who was 200 years old and he was still scared of storms!"_

_"For real?" Now warm and comfortable and no longer afraid, TJ yawned widely._

_"For real! He lived in India and he had 35 kids. He used to make all of them sleep with him when it rained."_

_His eyes closed._

_"You're silly, Annie."_

Booth was watching TJ closely.

"Yes, Annie."

TJ fought to hold back the tears. "You found her?"

I looked at Booth and saw his eyes narrow for a fraction of a second.

"Do you know what happened to Annie, TJ?"

He looked down at the table and shook his head quickly. A big, rolling teardrop left a wet track down his cheek.

He knew.

I wanted to cry, too. _Oh, TJ. How do you know? Why do you know?_

Mrs. Mayburn went to stand behind TJ. She put her hands on his shoulders and started rubbing little circles on his back.

Booth kept watching him.

"Do you remember what happened the day Annie disappeared?"

"Yes, sir."

The sound was a ragged whisper. More tears dropped from his cheeks and pooled on the table.

Booth leaned in close and lowered his voice until he was whispering, too. "I need you to tell me what happened that day, son."

Mrs. Mayburn felt as bad for TJ as I did. Her eyes were wet when she stepped back for a moment, one hand over her mouth. When she was composed, she squeezed TJ's shoulders again and started patting him.

TJ sniffled, wiped his hand under his nose and mumbled something that sounded like "popcorn."

Booth looked up at Mrs. Mayburn, who shrugged. Neither of them understood.

But I did.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

My heart broke into tiny pieces when TJ finally looked up.

"She went to get popcorn." He whispered as if he didn't have the strength to use his normal voice. "We was gonna watch a movie. Annie went down the street to get popcorn. She . . . she didn't come back."

The words broke on a sob as he turned around and pressed his face into Mrs. Mayburn's soft belly. She gathered him close and murmured soft words as she stroked his curls and let him cry.

The weight of his pain was worse than anything that had been done to me. I had loved him so much, and he'd loved me back with all the fervor of a little boy who needed someone to love.

_"Read me a story, Annie."_

_"You can read, TJ. She don't need to be reading to you."_

_"Oh, hush, Abe. Go get me a book, TJ."_

_"Can I brush your hair while you read to me?"_

_"If you want to."_

_"Your hair's so pretty, Annie. My mama had pretty hair like yours."_

_"TJ, you know our mama didn't have hair like no white girl."_

_"Go clean something, Abe."_

Booth waited until the first rush of tears had subsided then leaned forward again.

"I know this is hard for you, TJ, but I'm trying to help Annie. I'm trying to find out what happened to her. Don't you want to help Annie?"

TJ nodded as he hiccuped back another sob.

Booth pulled out a business card.

"I'm going to give you this, okay? See that? It's the FBI seal. I'm going to give Mrs. Mayburn one of these, too, but I thought you might like one of your own. If you remember anything else, anything that might help us find out what happened to Annie, you can call me. Okay?" He waited until the tear filled eyes lifted to his. "Anytime. You can call me anytime, alright?"

Booth stood up and jerked his head toward the front door. Mrs. Mayburn patted TJ's shoulder again and followed him down the hallway.

"I'm sorry for that," he said, and he looked like he actually meant it. "I have a son about that age."

Mrs. Mayburn sighed and crossed her arms over her chest again.

"That baby's feeling a lot of pain," she said. "But he's hiding something, too. I think we both know that. If he says anything else, I'll call you."

"I'd appreciate that," Booth answered. "His brother is at work?"

"Yes." She rattled off directions to a fast food restaurant nearby before she added, "You won't get anything out of him. He'll see you coming a mile away."

Booth just shook her hand. "Thanks for your time."

We left them, but for the first time, I understood why my guide had warned me about leaving my bones. As we drove away, I stared back at the house and I understood why some people wanted to stay with the living.

.

.

.

We found the restaurant without any problem. Booth parked in a space close to the door and went inside and I watched as, after one quick glance, several customers eased quickly out of the restaurant through the opposite side of the building.

Foster kids weren't the only ones who learned early how to mark a man with a badge.

Abe was working behind the counter. He'd grown taller, too, I noticed. A lot taller. He and TJ shared the same lean sharpness of build but otherwise, not much connected them as brothers. Abe's eyes were a pale, golden brown. His hair was cut close to his head and his dark skin gleamed like ebony under the ugly lights of the restaurant.

Abe knew Booth was a cop, too, even before he pulled out his badge.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI," he said smoothly. "You're Abraham Deerfield?" Since Abe's name tag clearly read "Abe," it wasn't much of a guess on Booth's part.

Before Abe could answer, a manager stepped out from the back of the restaurant.

"What's going on here?" he asked suspiciously.

Booth took out his badge again. "I just want to ask Mr. Deerfield some questions."

The manager moved closer to Abe.

"You got a warrant? He's underage. What do you want to question him about?"

Abe hadn't said anything yet. He just stared at Booth.

Booth stared back, looking at Abe even though he was still talking to the manager.

"I have some questions about Anne Duncan. You remember Annie, Abe?"

Abe blinked, and then his eyes went flat. He glanced quickly around the restaurant. It had emptied out when the few remaining customers fled the minute Booth said "FBI."

"I remember Annie." His voice had deepened in the years I'd been dead. It rumbled up from his chest and vibrated off the stainless steel counter.

The manager pushed Abe back and stood like a guardian angel between him and Booth.

"He doesn't have to talk to you. I told you, he's underage. I don't know what you want, but Abe is a good kid and he doesn't have to talk to you like this. You gotta get a warrant or something."

Booth shrugged as if it didn't matter.

"Okay. I just thought since I'd already talked to TJ, I'd see what Abe had to say, too."

That made Abe angry. He took a step forward, almost pressing up against the manager's back.

"You talked to my brother?" His voice rose louder. "Who told you you could do that? Is he okay?"

Booth put his hands in his pockets and waited a beat before answering.

"He's a little shaken up. I thought you might be able to tell me why that is."

The manager glared at Booth.

"You don't have to say anything, Abe!"

Booth laid another business card on the counter. He kept his eyes on Abe.

"You should call me," he said quietly. "Soon."

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the restaurant.

I followed, but once were outside, I couldn't help looking back at Abe.

The manager reached up and patted his shoulder but I don't think Abe was listening. He was staring through the windows, watching us as Booth got behind the wheel and backed out of the parking spot. As we pulled away, he slid the business card off the counter and into his pocket.

For the first time, I was sorry that my body had been found. I was sorry that I'd left my hill.

I never counted on Abe and TJ being drawn into this search for justice. It wasn't a price I was willing to pay.


	13. Anger

**_The self must know stillness before it can discover its true song.  
Ralph Brum_ **

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.

.

I stayed because I had to, because it was the only way for me to go back. Back to Dr. Brennan. Back to my bones. But I didn't want to be with Booth anymore.

I was angry at him. Angry at the way he'd poked and prodded until TJ's pain covered us all with his tears. Angry that he used TJ to goad Abe.

And I was angry at TJ and Abe. How did they know what happened to me? Why did they know? In all the years I sat alone on my hill, guarding my grave, the only consolation I had was that at least I'd been alone when . . . At least TJ and Abe had been home when it happened. I grieved that I'd never said goodbye. I grieved that they might think I just ran away. I grieved because they would worry. I grieved because I knew they would grieve.

But I found solace in my belief that they didn't know the awful things that happened to me. That one thought comforted me all those years on my hill. With my very last breath, I was glad I had been alone and they were safe.

It was all a lie. I had been comforted by a lie. I had been left in the peace of death while they lived in hell.

I was angry at myself, too, because I was so angry at the only people who cared about me. The only ones who cared about what happened to me.

I wanted to hit something. I wanted to break something.

I pictured myself standing in the middle of a room lined with mirrors, screaming until my throat bled, hurling rocks and stones at the walls until every mirror was nothing but shattered fragments of glass at my feet. I could almost feel the grit beneath my heel as I ground it all into glittering sand.

But I was dead.

And I couldn't even shed the tears that burned behind my eyes, let alone pick up a rock.

It was the worst irony of all, that I could still feel this gut-wrenching heartache but I had no way to ease the pain.

I did the only thing that was left. I stayed with Booth. When he went into another big, square government building, I followed him. When he got on and off an elevator, when he walked down a hall and stopped for coffee, I was beside him. When he went into his office and shut the door and sat behind his desk and opened my file and turned on his computer and started typing . . . I was there. I hid in the shadows and I watched him work. Other people came into his office and he spoke to them and they spoke to him and I watched and I listened.

But I didn't care. Not anymore. All of the curiosity I'd humored myself by indulging in was gone.

I just wanted to go back to my bones.

At the end of the day his phone rang and I could tell by the softness of his voice and the heat in the light around him that it was Dr. Brennan. I listened as he told her a little about TJ and promised to tell her more later and I was so angry. I was so angry.

He was just a little boy. What difference did it make, what TJ might be able to tell them? He wasn't there when it happened. He didn't do anything wrong. He was just a little boy who'd lost someone who loved him and it was wrong to talk about him like they were doing, like he was just something else to be cut up and examined and studied, like it didn't matter that whatever TJ knew was already torturing him.

I screamed 'Leave him alone!' but the words were lost in the silence.

There was nothing I could do. I couldn't protect TJ or Abe. Not anymore.

I was so tired. I just wanted to go back to my bones and I wanted my bones to go back to my hill and I wanted to stay there until everyone forgot about me and my name was one of those lost to history and no one that I loved could be hurt again.

I didn't want to do this anymore.

.

.

.

When we got back to the museum I was out of his car the moment Booth opened his door. I wasn't careful to make sure I didn't touch him as I rushed by. I didn't care if he felt me.

I fled through the busy rooms until I reached the place where my bones were laid out in the barest outline of the girl I used to be, displayed on a glowing table like a piece of expensive art. I hovered above them the way I'd done when they lay beneath the earth and listened to the sounds of night settling around me. I heard everyone leave. I heard their voices drift away and grow faint. I saw the lights dim as the building settled into darkness.

And still I sat. Unmoving. Angry. Hurt.

.

.

.

"Your sorrow is a heavy weight, child."

The guide's voice reached into the fog of anger and pain that surrounded me.

"I don't care." I owed him respect, I knew that, but I couldn't look at him.

He remained silent.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

I could barely hear my voice, I'm not sure how it reached him.

He came closer.

"That is not your choice."

"It should be. I should have a say. It's my body." I stared down at my bones. "It was my body."

He said nothing.

"I'm dead."

I looked at him, finally. He was a blur of shape past the tears I couldn't shed.

"Yes."

"So why does it still hurt?" I hated the note of pleading I couldn't erase.

He held out his hand and after a moment, I laid mine in his.

"Because that is the truth of death. Great joy." He turned my hand over until the palm faced up. "Great pain. To be whole, there must be two sides."

"I loved them so much," I whispered.

"You love them still."

I nodded.

"I don't want them to get hurt because of me."

"That is also not your choice," he said. "When we open ourselves to love, we open ourselves to pain. They are the same."

I felt heat flowing through his hand to mine, flooding me with warmth. I hadn't noticed until then how cold I was.

"I just wanted them to have good memories of me," I said wistfully. "Not . . ." I glanced away for a moment. "It's not fair."

"No." His eyes were gentle on my face.

I was suddenly angry again. I turned away from him and from my bones.

"What's the point? If this was my fate, why was I even born?"

The guide shook his head and gathered the folds of his robe close.

"There is no fate. There are choices and consequences."

"I don't understand." I looked at him, confused. "Can't you tell me? Can't you tell me why?"

"I do not have your answers. Your story is still being written."

"What?" That made me even more confused. I pointed to my bones. "I'm dead. That's all that's left of me. What story is left to write?"

"The story of the people you love."

That gave me a moment's pause. "So there's a purpose for this?"

"There is always a purpose."

Nothing he said made sense to me. I don't know if he deliberately spoke in riddles or if I just wasn't smart enough to grasp whatever wisdom he thought he was sharing but at least talking to him had calmed my anger and lightened my heartache.

I remembered the first words he'd said and felt a twinge of guilt.

"I'm sorry," I offered. "I didn't mean to cause you pain, too."

He shook his head and smiled his gentle smile.

"Come, little one. Tell us of your brothers. Speaking of them will ease your sorrow."

I followed him back to the room with the others.


	14. Possibility

**_I dwell in possibility.  
Emily Dickinson_ **

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.

.

The old guide was right. After a night spent sharing stories about Abe and TJ, I did feel better. It was sort of like a funeral, I thought, except that I was dead and sharing stories about the living instead of the other way around.

However strange it seemed, it worked.

I was ready when Dr. Brennan arrived the next morning. She was alone, which disappointed me. I had hoped Booth would come in with her so I could apologize for being so angry with him. I wasn't sure how to tell him I was sorry in a way that would reach him but I wanted to try. Even if he couldn't hear me, I wanted to say the words. I owed him that much.

I spent the morning drifting among her people and randomly filling the hours. When she and Mr. Bray moved to the room lined with bones, I went with them and stood among the other spirits of the dead as the two of them put a set of bones together like a human-shaped puzzle. One of the spirits, a young girl wearing a long calico dress, stood right beside them and watched intently as Dr. Brennan held up different pieces of the body, asked questions and corrected Mr. Bray's responses or praised him for his insights. I thought she was a good teacher and from the way the light around Mr. Bray glowed brighter as they continued to work together, I could tell he thought so, too.

After a while I decided to visit Dr. Hodgins, but he was absorbed with slides and a microscope and things I couldn't see, so it wasn't long before I left him, too.

I entertained myself for an hour or so with Dr. Saroyan. She spent a lot of time on the phone talking about an expense report that included a receipt for seven watermelons. I almost laughed at the testy tone of her voice when she said, "I can't answer that question but I'd be happy to have Dr. Hodgins explain to you the similarities between a watermelon and the human skull, if that would help." She hung up muttering under her breath about scientists and experiments and explosions and, a bit oddly, something about frozen pigs. When she went grumbling in search of medicine for a headache, I went in search of Angela.

She was working in front of her glass wall. When I looked at the image taking shape, I realized she was putting a face to the girl in the calico dress. I watched as the details emerged, filled with the same sense of awe I'd had when I saw my own face appear.

Angela's gift enthralled me, this ability she had to see flesh and features where only bones remained. I studied her as she worked, noting the determined focus with which she adjusted lines and angles and colors until the face was just as she wanted.

Suddenly, Angela shivered and looked in my direction. I knew she couldn't see me but still I took one step back, out of her line of sight. She blinked rapidly, took a deep breath and turned again to the girl on her wall.

I compared the ghostly image in front of us with the ghost only I could see.

 _"Her hair is dark and her eyes are green."_ I spoke out loud.

In front of me, Angela's head tilted slightly as she stared at the screen. She frowned, touched the tablet she held and the girl's hair darkened. Another touch, and the eyes were the green of summer pine needles. Then she stepped back until, without realizing it, she was standing right beside me.

"That's an unusual combination." Dr. Brennan entered Angela's office. For a moment there was silence as we stood, the three of us in a row, looking at the face of a girl who had been dead for over a hundred years.

"I know," Angela said. "It just felt . . . right."

Dr. Brennan glanced at her friend out of the corner of her eye.

"Less than 2% of the world's population have truly green eyes. They are somewhat more common in Nordic regions but these bones were discovered on part of what was called the Mormon Trail in Wyoming."

Angela shrugged, still looking at the image. "It just felt right," she said again. She busied herself for a moment saving the image and printing a copy. Then she laid the tablet aside. "Do you ever get the feeling that we're not alone?"

Dr. Brennan looked around the empty office.

Angela waved one hand in the air. "I don't mean now, I mean . . . here."

"Well, Dr. Hodgins is downstairs and Cam is in her office . . ." Dr. Brennan's expression was puzzled.

"No, sweetie." Angela shook her head and sat down on the edge of her desk. "Do you ever get the feeling that we aren't alone here in the lab?"

"We aren't alone." Dr. Brennan answered as if she were giving a tour. "The Jeffersonian employs several hundred people just in this building. If we add in the other museums and the satellite offices . . ."

Angela held up one hand.

"You know, I think you're deliberately misunderstanding me. Don't you ever sense that the remains we work with . . . the souls left behind . . . Do you ever think that maybe they're here with us? Around us?"

A stubborn expression crossed Dr. Brennan's face as she sat down on the sofa.

"They're dead, Angela."

"Yes, I know they're dead but sometimes . . ." Angela looked back at the image of the girl in the calico dress. "Like her. Do you want to know why I gave her dark hair and green eyes? I did it because I heard someone tell me to."

Her words made me smile. I was right. Angela could hear me.

"You were obviously speaking to yourself." Dr. Brennan shrugged. "You're very creative. It's only natural that your artistic tendencies . . ."

Angela didn't let her finish.

"No, that's not it. I heard the words very clearly. 'She has dark hair and green eyes.' I heard it," she insisted when Dr. Brennan raised her eyebrows. "And this case we're working on now, it's . . . different. She's here, Brennan. Annie is here. I can feel it."

 _I am here,_ I told them. _I'm right here._

"Angela . . ."

Angela sat down beside her. "She is, Brennan. I know it. When I was working on her face, Annie was right here with me. I asked her to help me get her face right and she did. That's why I found her so quickly."

I watched Dr. Brennan closely. Please believe, I whispered. If she could believe, maybe I could find a way to tell her how grateful I was for the work she was doing for me.

But she was shaking her head.

"I believe in your talent, Angela. While it's true that you aren't as intelligent as the rest of us, you are very intuitive and you have a good grasp for the details of facial features. Your artistic renderings are always very accurate."

I almost laughed out loud. Did she just say that Angela was dumb?

Angela grimaced. "Thank you . . . I think."

"It's not unusual for someone with your creative mind to see things around us that don't exist," Dr. Brennan continued. "We're surrounded by death and loss and if it eases your mind to believe that the spirits of the dead are around us, I have no quarrel with it as long as it doesn't affect the quality of your work."

"Well, thanks for that." Angela rolled her eyes. "You know, Brennan, one of these days you're going to look around and realize there's another world out there, one you can't put under a microscope or in a test tube."

"I don't know what you mean." Dr. Brennan's chin lifted in a way I already recognized.

Angela must have recognized it, too, because she smiled. "Yes, you do. Just wait until the doctor puts your baby in your arms. Then you'll believe in miracles."

"Pregnancy is a natural biological process, not a miracle. " Despite the clinical tone she used, Dr. Brennan's hand went to the round curve of her belly and the glow around her began to sparkle with points of different colored light.

Angela's grin just got wider.

"Sure it is. And none of that means diddly when you're counting fingers and toes and marveling over your baby's eyelashes." She leaned in close and the love the two women had for each other wove around them in glimmering ropes. "Miracle, Brennan. Get used to the concept."

Before Dr. Brennan could respond, the phone in her pocket jingled.

"Brennan." She listened for a moment. "Booth wants to meet at the diner for lunch. Would you like to join us?"

"Would I like to join you and your little miracle?" Angela teased. "I'd love to."

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.

.

Dr. Hodgins decided it was time for lunch, too, so the three of them walked to a small restaurant not far from the museum. Booth was already there, waiting at a table by the window. He stood up when they came in and when he stepped away so Dr. Brennan could slip in beside him, I whispered my apology in his ear and let myself believe I was forgiven.

They were friends, the four of them. I didn't need to see the light dancing around them to know how close they were. It was in their laughter and the easy flow of conversation and the comfortable way they interacted together. I watched and listened and enjoyed the reflection of their happiness, and put aside the last of my anger and sorrow. There was a purpose, my guide had said. Whatever it was, they were part of it.

No one had quite finished eating when a phone rang again. This time it was Booth's.

"Booth."

His smile disappeared.

"Both of them?"

The air around the table went cold and I knew.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes. Put them in . . ."

He paused, thinking.

"Put them in Conference Room D, the one with the video camera."

"No, I don't want an interrogation room. Conference Room D. And get me an advocate."

"See if Caroline is available, too. I want her there."

When he hung up, they were all looking at him.

"Abe and TJ Deerfield are in my office."


	15. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: sexual assault and violence

**_"The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution."  
JK Rowling_ **

.

.

.

For just a minute, I was tempted to leave with Angela and Dr. Hodgins. I didn't want to hear what Abe and TJ had to say. I wanted to run back to the museum. I wanted to wait there, with my bones, until it was all over.

I thought about doing it, too, but deep down I knew that was the coward's way out. If my beautiful TJ and my stoic Abe were strong enough . . . brave enough . . . to come to Booth, to step into a world where kids like us were powerless, I owed it to them to be there, too. It was the least I could do.

Oh, but it was so hard to follow Booth and Dr. Brennan when they walked out of the diner. It was so hard to go back to his office, to ride up the elevator and walk down that hallway . . . I followed them but with every step they took I fell a little further behind. Avoiding what I knew couldn't be avoided.

A young woman named Shaw stopped Booth. I studied her as they spoke because, really, she didn't seem any older than me. She was respectful and admiring and anxious for his good opinion and I realized that in a way, he was a teacher, too. It was one more thread that tied him to Dr. Brennan.

A heavy-set black woman came around the corner. She beamed when she saw us.

"Dr. Brennan!" She nudged Booth out of the way. "You look lovely, cherie. How are you feeling?"

Dr. Brennan looked a bit uncomfortable being the focus of attention but she smiled back.

"I'm feeling very well, Caroline. Everything is fine."

"You're taking your vitamins?"

"Yes, I am."

"And getting enough rest?"

"Yes, I'm getting plenty of rest."

Booth leaned over the woman's shoulder and spoke close to her ear. "Hello, Caroline."

"Hmmmpf." She answered with a sneer and then ignored him again. "Are you drinking that green tea I suggested?"

"Yes," Dr. Brennan answered. "Actually, it is very soothing when I experience nausea."

"Good, good. May I?" One hand hovered over the swell of Dr. Brennan's abdomen; after waiting for a nod, Caroline let it rest lightly above the unborn child beneath. Her happy grin was wider than ever. "Oh, it's a girl!"

Booth and Dr. Brennan shared an amused look.

"We don't yet know the gender of our child," Dr. Brennan said. "The first ultrasound was inconclusive."

"It's definitely a girl," Caroline repeated emphatically. "I am never wrong. You might as well go ahead and paint the room pink." She paused and threw Booth a disgruntled look over her shoulder. "That is, if someone would make an honest woman out of you so you'd have a room to paint! Hmmpf."

Booth immediately started complaining. "Wait a minute! I want to get married! It's not my fault that Bones -"

Caroline threw a hand in his face as she turned around.

"I am a busy woman, Agent Booth. I do not have time to discuss your penchant for having children out of wedlock." She crossed her arms over her ample bosom. "I presume you brought me here for a reason? Does this have anything to do with that set of remains you found in Fairfax County?"

And just like that, the fragile moment of forgetting was jerked out from under me and I was back in the harsh reality that was my world.

Booth was still irritated. "Yes, but . . ."

Caroline didn't care. "Get to the point!"

I wanted him to keep arguing. I wanted to talk about the baby, about pink rooms and wedding dresses and diapers and morning sickness. Anything that wasn't Abe and TJ.

But the opportunity was lost in the frown Booth gave both Caroline and Dr. Brennan.

"Fine," he huffed. "Yes, the two boys I told you about are here. I'd like you to hear what they have to say."

"Why? You said you don't consider them suspects." They turned down another hallway and once again, I fell behind.

"My gut says they're not involved but I think they know something. I want to get your perspective. "

Mrs. Mayburn sat on a bench outside a closed door. She stood up when our group approached.

Booth held out his hand. "Thank you for coming."

"Agent Booth." She grabbed his hand and held on. "I brought my boys to you because they asked me to. I expect to be taking both of them home with me when they're done telling you whatever it is they want to tell you."

"Yes, ma'am." Mrs. Mayburn loosened her grip when Booth nodded, but I noticed that he didn't promise he'd let Abe and TJ go home. Why didn't he promise?

It was one more reason for me to worry.

Booth introduced Dr. Brennan and Caroline and then waved Shaw over.

"If you need anything - water or coffee, ladies room, anything - Agent Shaw here will take care of you."

.

.

The conference room was quiet when we entered. Abe and TJ sat on the opposite side of the table and faced the door. Light surrounded them, glowing ropes that pulsed with a throbbing, uneasy rhythm. TJ stared down at his lap, arms crossed over his chest, and rocked back and forth. Abe just looked straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight. There was a third person there, too, a middle-aged man with a thick greying mustache who sat a few empty seats away.

Abe jerked to attention when the door opened but he didn't say anything. Booth waited for Dr. Brennan and Caroline and then pulled it shut.

"Abe, TJ, I'm glad you came." His voice was pitched low as everyone sat down. "This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, and this is Caroline Julian. She's the federal prosecutor who's going to make sure whoever hurt Annie pays for it. Did you meet Tom?" The older man nodded. "Tom is a juvenile advocate. He's here to make sure you don't say anything you don't want to say and that I don't make you say anything you don't want to say."

Abe didn't answer, he just watched Booth pull out the chair at the head of the table and angle it toward him and TJ. I was still beside the door, afraid to move. The body I didn't have anymore felt heavy and immobile and my chest heaved with breaths I didn't need to take.

Booth pointed to a camera tucked discreetly in the corner of the ceiling. "This interview is being recorded. If you have a problem with that, you need to let me know right now."

Abe's eyes narrowed but after a few seconds, he nodded. Booth leaned forward. Like yesterday, he wasn't taking notes. I wondered if that was a trick he used sometimes, to make it seem more like a conversation than an interrogation.

"Okay. For the record, you are Abraham Lincoln Deerfield and your brother is Thomas Jefferson Deerfield. That correct? You have to say it out loud," he added, when Abe's head tipped again.

"Yes, sir." The words came out between lips that barely moved.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen. TJ just turned 12."

"And it's just the two of you? No other family?"

"Our mother is dead. We don't have the same father but we don't know where either of them is. We also have three brothers."

That shocked me. Abe never talked about the babies.

Booth was surprised, too. "You have brothers? Where are they?"

"They didn't make it." Abe's face was blank but the light between the two boys surged like sparks from a volcano.

"What do you mean?" Booth glanced at TJ.

"George and Benny were twins. They only lived a few months. John was two when he died." Abe tried and failed to look casual. He stared across the table at Dr. Brennan and Caroline. "Mama tried but she never could shake the drugs, even when another baby was coming."

He'd shown me their photos once. He carried them in his wallet. Two little babies in clear plastic incubators with wires and tubes attached to their tiny bodies. An older baby lying in a hospital bed with bandages across his face and chest holding more tubes in place. I'd cried and then pretended that I didn't notice Abe was crying, too.

Booth let Abe's words hang in the air for a minute before he spoke again.

"I know this is going to be hard," he said, "but I need to ask you some questions about the day Annie disappeared. Tell me what you remember. Were you there?"

Abe slumped a little. He stared at his hands, clasped together on the table in front of him.

"We were all there," he said finally. "Me and TJ and Annie. Miss Justine left to play bingo and told us we could pick a movie off the pay-per-view. We were going to watch Spider Man 3. Annie said she wanted popcorn but there wasn't any in the house so she took some of her money and left to walk down to the LeHi store on the corner." His eyes met Booth's. "I would have gone but I was getting over being sick and she wouldn't let me. We never saw her again."

"What happened when she didn't come home? Did you call the police?"

I looked at Booth incredulously. Call the police? Clearly he didn't know much about kids like us. We stayed away from the police. We didn't call them.

The same expression was on Abe's face. He laughed harshly.

"No, we didn't call no police. When Miss Justine got back, we told her Annie still wasn't home. TJ got sick, he was so worried about her."

Dr. Brennan spoke for the first time. "What did your foster mother do?"

Abe's hands clenched into fists.

"She went up to Annie's room, then she came back down and told us to go to bed. When we got up the next morning, first thing we did was go to Annie's room, too, but the door was locked." He squeezed TJ's shoulder. "We asked Miss Justine where Annie was but she just said Annie had gone away for a few days and not to bother her about it. We asked every day. Every day. 'Where's Annie?' 'When's Annie coming home?'"

Abe's hands were twisting into knots, the fingers shuffling, betraying his agitation. His voice got lower. Darker.

"After a couple of weeks, Miss Justine got mad and told us to shut up and not ask about Annie anymore. She said not to say anything to anyone about Annie being gone or she'd call the social worker and send us back and then we'd have to be separated 'cause no one could take both of us." His chin lifted and his eyes went cold. "So we stopped asking."

Booth took over the questioning again.

"Did Annie have any reason to leave on her own? Did you think she might have run away?"

Abe didn't hesitate. "Annie didn't run away. She wouldn't have left TJ." He chewed on his lip nervously as his gaze slipped away and then back to Booth. "Miss Justine didn't know it but we broke into her room and everything was still there. All of her stuff, including her running cash."

"Running cash?" Booth's eyebrows rose curiously.

Dr. Brennan answered before Abe could. "It's a secret fund, whatever money you manage to save, just in case you ever have to leave on your own."

Abe studied her. I could almost see him thinking, wondering how she knew about that.

"Yes, ma'am. She had almost a hundred dollars and it was still there. She kept it pinned to the top of her curtains. No one knew about it but us."

"So what happened then?" Booth captured Abe's attention again.

"Nothing." That one word sat heavy between them. "After a while, it was like no one even remembered her but me and TJ. I kept hoping the school would call or something but . . ." He shrugged. "She was just gone and it was like she'd never been there. A few months later, I saw Miss Justine go in Annie's room. She packed up a bunch of stuff - clothes and shoes, stuff like that - and she put the bag in the trunk of her car and left. Next day, the police came and she told them that Annie had run away. She said she'd been scared to report it because she didn't want to lose me and TJ." His laugh was bitter. "She said she was worried about us being separated."

"When the police were there, did they ask you about Annie?"

Abe shook his head. "They didn't ask us anything. Not me or TJ."

Booth frowned. "No one talked to you?"

"No, sir. Miss Justine took them upstairs to Annie's room. She pointed out everything that was missing but it was just the stuff she'd packed up herself. They looked around and left and that was it, until the principal at school raised a fuss. She told them how long Annie had been gone so the police came back to talk to us. They took me and TJ down to the station and we told them everything we knew. Then Miss Justine got arrested and the social worker came, just like she said would happen. We were split up for about six months, until they found Miss Dottie. We've been there ever since."

I wanted to weep. TJ was alone for six months, without Abe? He must have been so scared.

"Is that everything?"

For the first time, TJ looked up. He glanced quickly around the table, at Dr. Brennan and at Caroline and for one brief second at Booth, before he turned to Abe. They stared at each other for a long time.

"No."

His jaw hardened when he met Booth's eyes. The room was suddenly full of shadows and darkness and fear. I was terrified.

_Stop. Stop now and go home._ I pleaded with Abe silently. _Just go home. Please just go home._

But no one heard me. It was too late.

When Abe hesitated again, a quiet voice came from beside him.

"It's for Annie." It was the first time TJ had spoken.

Abe closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and started talking.

"I watch out for TJ," he began. "Our neighborhood is . . . Well right now it's okay, at Miss Dottie's, but when we were at Miss Justine's it wasn't so good. You didn't have to go looking for trouble, it just found you. I wanted to keep TJ away from all that so I kept him pretty close. We're getting out," Abe said. His chin rose. His tone was defiant, as if he thought they wouldn't believe him. "I'm going to college. I'm going to make sure TJ goes, too."

No one challenged him.

"I keep him close," Abe continued. "But he's a kid, you know? He's gotta have some fun. A while ago, about a year now, he wanted to go to this friend's house, Trent's house, and play Xbox. I was off work that day so I took him, cause I don't let him go anywhere without me."

TJ was rocking in his seat again. Back and forth, his head pointed down. His little body trembled so much, we all noticed. I had no idea what Abe was going to say but I knew without a doubt that I didn't want to hear it.

"It was all right at first. TJ and Trent and another kid, they were in Trent's room playing Madden. Then Trent's brother showed up with some of the boys he runs with. I recognized him. He's bad, likes to act like some kind of wannabe gangbanger."

_Abe looked up when the three older teenagers slouched into the bedroom._

_Damn, he whispered to himself when he recognized Marcus, Trent's older brother. He glanced down at his watch then pretended to focus on the game the younger boys were playing. His mind raced ahead. I've got to get TJ out of here._

_"Who you belong to?"_

_It was too late. Marcus was talking to him._

_Abe glowered into the beady eyes and pockmarked face visible beneath the long, greasy brown hair._

_"I ain't belong to nobody." He deliberately adjusted his vocabulary as he sneered the response._

_"Chill, dude." Marcus just laughed. "I mean, who you run with? Who's your crew?"_

_"Ain't got one." Abe deliberately turned his back._

_"Man's gotta have a crew," Marcus said. "For protection, right? Gotta have somebody watch your back."_

_"I watch my own back." Abe stared blindly at the game being played out on the TV screen as he tried to think of a way to get TJ out._

_"Gotta watch your own back, that's for damn sure." Marcus had been lounging on his bed. He sat up abruptly and slapped Abe's shoulder._

_Abe jerked away and allowed his anger to blaze through the stare he fixed on the other boy._

_Marcus grinned unconvincingly and held his hands up._

_"Peace, bro. I ain't startin' no shit. I'm Marcus and this is my fucking house you're in, in case you don't know." He waved toward the unkempt strangers who had come in the room with him. "This is Web and this ugly mother fucker is Eddy."_

_The boy he shoved had a shaved head and a tattoo on his neck. The three of them pushed and wrestled and punched at each other for a few minutes._

_Marcus appraised him steadily. "I could use some fresh blood in my crew. What's your name?"_

_"Abraham Lincoln," Abe snarled. Too far. This was going too far. I never should have brought TJ here._

_The three boys rolled on the bed, laughing._

_"Abraham Lincoln? That what you tell the cops if they start hassling you? Abraham Lincoln?" Marcus kept laughing. "That's smart! I'm gonna be George Washington." He barked out laughter at his own joke._

_Web snickered. "I'm gonna tell 'em I'm Bill Clinton."_

_"Man, what the fuck?" Marcus hit him. "You gotta pick a dead one. You can't be no Bill Clinton."_

_"I can be who I wanna be and I'm gonna be Bill Clinton. Least he got his dick sucked regular."_

_They roared with amusement and traded high fives. When the merriment ended, Marcus smiled at Abe as if they were friends._

_"I like you, Abraham Lincoln. You wanna hang with us, I'm down with it. " Just then, he looked past the end of the bed to where the younger boys sat playing the video game. "What's the matter with you, kid?"_

_TJ was staring past Marcus, his face frozen in horror, his wide eyes fixed on a long, white-blonde swatch of hair hanging from a bare nail pounded into the drywall._

_Marcus glanced over his shoulder; a venal smile curved his lips as he scooted back until he was leaning against the wall behind his bed. He reached up and stroked the lock of hair._

_"You like my souvenir?"_

_Abe swallowed and tasted bile._

Booth's chin jerked slightly. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"He had her hair. He had Annie's hair." The hoarse whisper came from TJ.

Appalled, I could only stare at the boys. Until that moment, no one had mentioned that my killers had scraped away part of my hair, that they had taken a piece of my scalp with them.

Abe and TJ were staring down at the table. They didn't see the look that passed between Dr. Brennan and Booth, horror mingled with sadness mingled with rage. Caroline took a deep breath and rested her fingertips against her forehead.

"You're sure the hair belonged to Annie?"

Abe's jaw clenched. "Annie's hair was . . . Only one person ever had hair like that. It was white, silver almost. And long, all the way down her back."

TJ mumbled something no one understood.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Booth made him repeat it.

"She had unicorn hair." His chin dropped back to his chest. "That's what I used to tell her, that she had unicorn hair. He had it nailed to the wall."

Booth ran his hand over his nose and mouth then lowered a clenched fist to the table.

"Did they say anything else?"

"Yea." Abe gave a humourless laugh. "They talked a lot."

_"You like my souvenir?" Marcus kept stroking the long rope of hair hanging over his shoulder. "You come with us, we'll find us another sweet piece of cherry and you can have one of these, too."_

_"Shit," Web scoffed. "Ain't no cherry around here no more, unless you get one that's ten years old."_

_"Hell, no!" Eddy yelled. "I don't want no kid. Gotta find one with titties at least. And if we do it again, I'm bringing a hose. That blonde bitch bled so much, I couldn't see where to stick my dick."_

_The laughter was cruel and evil._

_"Didn't take you long to find somewhere, did it?" Marcus whooped and punched Eddy's shoulder. "Told you that shit was tight, didn't I?"_

_The more they talked about what they had done, the worse it got. Two other names were mentioned amid the joking and taunts and ugliness. Abe kept his face blank, carefully hiding the horror he felt . . . hoping that TJ wasn't listening, hoping that he didn't understand. Annie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, he thought to himself, over and over. I'm so sorry._

_As Marcus' laugh died out, he nodded again toward TJ._

_"What's wrong with him? Is he a retard or something?"_

_TJ was still staring, unable to move, his eyes twitching from one boy to another._

_Don't say anything, TJ, Abe pleaded silently. Don't say anything. I'll get us out of here, I promise. I'll get us out of here. Just don't say anything._

_"He's just a little slow," Abe said finally. "He don't talk much."_

_And then TJ saved them._

"I threw up," he whispered, when Abe paused for breath.

"You saved our lives." Abe's arm went around his brother's bony shoulders as he drew the younger boy close. "They all freaked out when TJ threw up so we were able to get out of there without anyone trying to stop us."

Someone was muttering over and over. "No. No. No. No. No. No. No." Until the room fell silent, I didn't know it was me.

I was sitting on the conference room floor, my face in my knees, with my hands covering my ears. The racking sobs, the keening wails of pain and loss and anguish that seemed to vibrate through the air were coming from me. To my surprise, my cheeks were wet. Ghosts can cry, if it hurts bad enough.

Caroline was standing at the other end of the room, her arms crossed, staring at the floor. Dr. Brennan was still seated, with her elbows on the table and her head resting against her folded hands like she was saying a prayer.

Booth was standing up, too. He had his back to the room and his face raised to the ceiling and one hand on his hip. The pose pulled his jacket back and exposed his gun. I could hear him taking deep, calming breaths, one by one.

I wiped my face and knelt between Abe and TJ, right in the middle of the glimmering strands of light that connected them. I stretched my arms out around them and, over and over, I whispered how sorry I was. How much I loved them.

When Booth cleared his throat with a rough cough, the sound was abnormally loud. "Have you seen those men since then?"

Abe shook his head.

"No, sir. I convinced Miss Dottie that TJ was sick so she kept him home for a few days and by the time he went back, Trent had been sent to juvie for busting up a check cashing place. Now I don't let TJ go anywhere. Home and school, that's it." He looked at his younger brother with regret. "I don't like doing it, but he's got to be safe."

Silence filled the room before Abe spoke again. His hands were lying on top of the table, clenched so hard I expected to see the bones of his fingers pop through the skin.

"I know I should have said something back then, right after it happened. I should have. I knew it was Annie they were talking about, when they told us what they did. They had her hair . . ." His voice broke. "They had her hair nailed to the wall like a goddamn . . ."

TJ's shoulders began to shake. Abe stopped talking and put his arm around him again until the tears slowed.

Abe looked at Booth. "I should have said something when I knew Annie was dead. But my brother was alive and he comes first. I had to protect TJ. If they could do that to her . . . She never hurt anybody." He shook his head. "I didn't know what they'd do to us, if we said anything."

He took a deep breath and his shoulders straightened.

"I'll be 18 in a few months. The social worker said that when I turn 18, if I have a good job and a place of my own, I can be TJ's guardian. I can get him out. That was my plan." He looked at Caroline, who still stood at the other end of the table but had turned to watch him. "The manager at my job, he told me that when I turn 18 he's going to make me an assistant manager. That will be more money, more hours. I can probably afford a little apartment and I can get TJ out. That's what I was going to do. As soon as I got him somewhere safe, where they couldn't find him, I was going to go to the police."

I was nodding as I listened. He was right. The most important thing was to keep TJ safe.

Abe reached down between their chairs and placed a black and white marble notebook on the table.

"I wrote it all down. That night, after TJ went to sleep, I wrote it all down so I wouldn't forget what they said. It's all here. Their names, what they said, where they live. I wrote it all down so I could give it to the police when I had TJ somewhere safe."

He slid the book across the table.

TJ dragged his arm under his nose then picked up a Nike shoebox from the empty chair on his left.

"This is Annie's stuff." His voice was halting and barely audible. "Some of it, the most important stuff. When we broke into her room, it was all still there. She hadn't come back for it and she woulda come back, if she could."

When he opened the box, my heart broke into a million bleeding shards.

"This is her hairbrush."

_"Annie, can I brush your hair while you read to me?"_

"This was her favorite book." A bedraggled copy of Anne of Green Gables joined the cheap plastic brush.

_"Look, Annie, she's got your name! Is that why this is your favorite book, because she's got your name?"_

"This is Annie's mom and dad." It was the only picture I had of them. TJ was so careful when he laid it on top of the book.

_"Who are they, Annie?"  
"That's my mom and dad."   
"Your mama was pretty."  
"She was, wasn't she?"  
"I wish I had a real family."  
"I'm your real family, TJ. Me and Abe."  
"You are?"  
"Sure. Sometimes you're born into a family and sometimes you get to choose one. I picked you."  
"I'm glad you picked me, Annie."_

Then TJ unfolded a child's drawing.

"I drew this picture for her after we came to live with Miss Justine. Annie kept it right above her bed." His thumb stroked over the small pinhole at the top.

Three skinny people with big round heads smiled out from the page. There was a tall, dark boy holding hands with a shorter, golden brown boy who was holding hands with a girl with long white hair that went all the way to the bottom of the page.

When I looked up from the things I'd loved the most, Abe and TJ were dry-eyed but they were the only ones.

The room was quiet again.

TJ's whisper broke into the silence.

"When we get out of jail, can I have this stuff back?"

Muscles jumped in Booth's neck. "Why do you think you're going to jail?"

Abe answered. His voice was deep and gruff. "Because we didn't tell anyone what they told us. I know you're supposed to."

Caroline shook her head. Her lips were pressed together like she was trying not to cry anymore.

"You're telling us now." She sounded as raw and hoarse as Abe. "That's good enough."

Dr. Brennan had been watching TJ.

"If you wouldn't mind, I would like to borrow Anne's . . . I would like to borrow Annie's things for a little while. I promise I will give them back to you as soon as possible."

TJ looked at her over the width of the table.

"You won't hurt them?"

"I promise you I will be extremely careful," she said solemnly.

TJ held her gaze for a minute longer and then nodded. "Okay." He carefully returned everything to the shoebox, put the lid on and pushed it into her hands.

Booth's chair creaked when he sat down again.

"I'm sorry I had to put you through that, but I want you to know that I'm going to do everything I can to make sure those boys are brought to justice." His eyes were hard. "They'll pay for what they did to Annie, I swear."

He stood up and held out his hand. Abe hesitated for only a few seconds before he clasped it in his.

"Thank you, sir."


	16. Passion

**_Man is only great when he acts from passion.  
Benjamin Disraeli_ **

.

.

Anger rolled from him in thick, heavy waves as his rage filled the room. Watching the light around him shatter with explosions that popped and crackled, I almost expected to see smoke curling from the carpet.

But she held her place and was angry in her own right. She stood her ground, chin thrust forward, eyes narrowed as she looked back at him.

"What do you mean, you won't get me a search warrant?" He stood behind his desk, hands clenched at his side.

" _Can't_ get you a search warrant," Caroline answered. "I said I can't get you one, not that I won't. Maybe Dr. Brennan can explain the difference in those words to you."

Dr. Brennan sat in a chair in front of Booth's desk reading through the marble notebook Abe had given them. The argument flowed around her as she studied the painstakingly neat handwriting; with her hands encased in latex gloves, she slowly turned the page.

Booth didn't even look at her.

"I know the difference." he growled. "Why can't you get me a warrant? Didn't you hear what those boys said?"

"Yes, I did," Caroline retorted. "And it broke my heart, same as yours. But a broken heart does not constitute probable cause."

"Are you telling me you don't believe them?" Booth's voice rose high with indignation.

"No, I am not telling you that." When he started to interrupt, Caroline spoke louder and drowned him out. "I do believe them, and if I got convictions based on what I believe to be true, then trust me, cherie, we'd all be sleeping a little better at night. No!" The shout cut off whatever Booth began to say. She took a step closer to his desk. "You listen to me, Seeley Booth. I cannot go to a judge with only a story supposedly heard over a year ago, with no proof but a child's diary that simply repeats the same tale. There's not a judge in this town who'd give me a search warrant on such a flimsy basis."

"HE'S GOT HER GODDAMNED SCALP NAILED TO THE WALL!"

The words he yelled rang through the air. In the rabbit warren of cubicles outside his office, a few people stood up and glanced toward him. I couldn't help staring, either. Although I'd only been with him a few days, I'd never heard him curse. Not really curse. The words, and the heat behind them, shocked me. They seemed to shock the other two occupants of the room, too.

Dr. Brennan looked up from Abe's book. Around her, the light that connected them was smooth and serene but the closer it got to Booth, the more agitated it became, with currents that swirled and twisted in disturbing eddies. She was calm, though, and as he stared back the disturbance around him softened, soothed by her gentle influence.

Caroline, she just got madder. She stepped right up to his desk, put her hands down and leaned forward so they were almost nose to nose.

"Yes, he does." Her voice wasn't as loud as his but there was just as much bite behind it. "And what you have is reason enough to drag all their sorry asses in here for questioning. So go get 'em. Bring 'em all in here! Parade them up and down the hall and play "I Spy" so they all think someone is ratting the others out. Threaten them with guards and dogs and barbed wire! I don't care what you do, just get me something I can use for a warrant and I'll get it for you. Then you and I will nail that pathetic excuse for a human being to the floor of a jail cell for the next twenty years. And the rest of them, too." She paused and drew a deep breath. "That's the way it works, Agent Booth."

"I know how to do my job," he bit out.

"And I know how to do mine," she snapped. "I've been standing in front of judges since before your mama stuck diaper pins stuck in your butt."

She turned to leave but as she passed Dr. Brennan, Caroline patted her shoulder.

"You take care of that baby, cherie." She jerked her head toward Booth. "And that one, too." The door didn't slam behind her, but only because it couldn't and considering that it was made of glass, that was probably a good thing.

The office was quiet. Dr. Brennan closed the book, let it lie on her knees and watched him. Minutes passed. The light between them ebbed and flowed like ocean waves calming after a storm.

Booth sank down in the chair behind his desk.

"She only calls me Seeley if she's really mad at me."

"I'm fairly confident she was very angry at you."

"Mmm." One side of his mouth curved up. "I got a little hot."

"That is an understatement." Her voice was dry but she was smiling. "I appreciate your passion and I'm sure Caroline does as well."

Booth suddenly stood up and stalked across his office. He pulled the door open and stuck his head out.

"Shaw!"

Within seconds, she was in front of him. "Yes, sir?"

He looked back at Dr. Brennan, at the book she held. "Do you have another pair of gloves with you?"

"Yes," she answered, as she got to her feet. "Why?"

"I want Shaw to make a copy before we take the book down for analysis."

Dr. Brennan shook her head. "This book is going back to the lab with me, Booth. We'll do any tests that are required."

"Okay." He didn't argue with her. "Shaw, take Bones to the copier and make enough to go around. Anyone playing solitaire, anyone playing trashcan basketball, anyone not working on something else, get them on this case. There are five men mentioned in that book. I want full names, addresses, police records, anything else we can find. I want to know what they had for breakfast this morning. And I want it all yesterday. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Shaw practically vibrated with eagerness.

Booth turned back to Dr. Brennan. "When you're done with the copies, I'll take you back to the lab so you can get started with your squinty stuff while they're working on the names. I want to know if there are any fingerprints in there other than Abe or TJ, or if there's anything else about it that's off. Okay?"

"Yes, of course." Dr. Brennan started to follow Shaw out but stopped at the door.

Booth was halfway back to his desk when he noticed that she was still there.

"Yea?"

"Why do you want to know what those men had for breakfast this morning?"

"What?" His brow furrowed, then cleared. A wide grin spread across his face until it sparkled in his eyes. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, hard and fast. "I love you, Bones." He released her with a gentle nudge toward a blushing Shaw. "I'll explain later. Go."  
.  
.


	17. Art

**_Life is the art of drawing without an eraser.  
John W. Gardner_ **

.

.

.

It took him three days. The rest of that day and two more passed before Booth had the answers he wanted, before the final bit of information he needed was put in front of him.

He wanted everything, he explained, when Dr. Brennan asked why he still waited after the first pieces of the puzzle started to come together.

"They're like cockroaches," he said. "At the first hint of trouble, they'll find a crack in the wall and disappear. I'm not going to let that happen. We'll get all of them, all at once, so they won't have time to hide."

She appreciated his logic.

So I had the remainder of that first day.

Dr. Brennan kept Abe's book and the box from TJ and refused to let anyone at the FBI do more than look at them. She held them on her lap on the way back to the museum and stroked the corner of the box the whole way, like she was petting it. Or comforting it. I'm not even sure she realized what she was doing.

The people at the lab were waiting. When the double glass doors swished open, they all stopped what they were doing and, one by one, got in line and trailed behind her up the steps to her office. She set everything on her desk and then turned to see them crowded together in the doorway.

Angela pushed through first.

"Well? What happened?" When Dr. Brennan's eyes dropped to the floor, Angela gasped. "No! The brothers did it? From her foster home?"

Dr. Brennan was quick to correct that mistake.

"No, no. I'm sorry, I apologize if I gave you that impression. Abe and TJ are not suspects." She waved everyone inside. "Please sit down and I'll explain what happened. We have some work to do."

As a group, they settled on her sofa and in the chairs around the low coffee table. Wariness put a sharp edge on the way they looked at the box when Dr. Brennan picked it up.

She told my story in bare prose. Without embellishment, she repeated what Abe had shared about my last day, Miss Justine's behavior, and the aftermath. She incorporated a few of the details gleaned from Ms. Clyde, but otherwise my story was Abe's and TJ's story.

I was grateful that she left out most of what Abe and TJ had heard from Marcus. I didn't want to hear those words again and I didn't want her to have to say them. As it was, what she told them was enough to outline the nightmare I had endured. When she mentioned the long swath of my hair hanging by a nail on Marcus' wall, Angela turned her head into Dr. Hodgins' shoulder.

 _"'Man's inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn,"_ Dr. Saroyan murmured quietly.*

"TJ and Abe were incredibly brave to meet with Booth," Dr. Brennan said. "They both believed they were going to be arrested because they'd withheld this information but even so, they came in."

"Because they loved her," Angela whispered. Her eyes were wet.

"Yes," Dr. Brennan agreed. "They loved her." She looked down at the box. "These things belonged to Anne Duncan. I promised TJ that I would take very good care of them."

She pulled a pair of gloves out of her pocket, put them on and opened the box. The people around her, the ones who had claimed me as theirs, leaned forward. One by one, she lifted the items inside. My hairbrush. My book. The photo of my parents. The drawing TJ had done for me. No one else wore gloves so she refused to let them touch anything, but she held the photo and then the drawing for a long time, letting them lie flat in the palms of both hands while they looked their fill.

"Oh, Brennan," Angela breathed softly. "Oh, this is so sad. They created their own little family and . . ."

 _And then it was all gone._ My whisper fell into the silence of the room and for just a moment, the words hung there. As if they could hear me.

"Yes." After a minute, Dr. Brennan cleared her throat and described Booth's argument with Caroline. The laughter was a welcome relief from the earlier tension.

"Is there any chance someone recorded that?" Angela asked with a wide grin. "I just love it when Booth goes all FBI macho man."

"Husband! Sitting right here!" Dr. Hodgins nudged her playfully with one shoulder.

"I wouldn't mind seeing him go toe-to-toe with Caroline, either," Dr. Saroyan said. "I'm surprised the furniture didn't catch fire."

Dr. Brennan switched gears and assumed a brisk, professional air. "Booth has several agents trying to identify the men Abe mentioned but we have our own work to do. Mr. Bray, please double-check the case notes and make sure every detail of our examination is cataloged and ready to be presented to Caroline Julian. Angela . . . ."

"I know," Angela grimaced. "This is where you don't really need me."

"We always need you, babe." Dr. Hodgins leaned over and pressed a kiss against the bare skin of her shoulder.

"Suck up," she teased, with a laugh that caused the light around them to hiss and sparkle. "I'll just go with Wendall and see if I can help review the case notes."

When Angela was gone, Dr. Brennan held out Abe's book.

"Dr. Hodgins, I would like you to examine this book. Please let me know if you find anything unusual."

"Okay." He pulled a pair of gloves out of the pocket of his lab coat before he took it from her. "What am I looking for?"

"I would rather not compromise your objectivity by making any suggestions. Just . . . please tell me what you find. If you can date the ink used without destroying any of the pages, do so but if not, let me know what else you find before you do anything that might damage or destroy any part of the book."

"All right." He was curious, I could tell, but he didn't ask any other questions. Dr. Brennan's voice halted him on his way out of her office.

"Dr. Hodgins." When he turned around, her face was grim. "Don't let Angela read that book."

His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the marble cover. Then he gave her a brief nod and left.

Dr. Saroyan was the only person still there. "What's in the book?"

Dr. Brennan closed her eyes and when she opened them again, they were wet and shining and her sadness was palpable.

"He wrote it all down. He thought of her as his sister and when he came home from listening to her attackers describe what they had done to her, he wrote it all down so he wouldn't forget. So that one day, he could tell someone. But we have to be sure the story he told us is true. We have to be sure there's nothing on that book that contradicts what Abe told us."

She crossed her arms over her chest, above the rounded swell of her abdomen and looked at her feet. After a moment, she sighed heavily.

"I don't like having those thoughts, Dr. Saroyan." Her head shook again. "I believe him. I read every word and . . . and I don't know how I'll ever forget it. He and TJ have lived for a year with the knowledge of what happened to their sister and now that I've read that story, and I don't know how I'll ever forget it."

"You won't," Dr. Saroyan said softly. "We never forget. That's what makes us the good guys. I always think I've seen the worst of what man can do and, unfortunately, I'm always surprised with something even more horrific. I just have to believe that what we do here makes a difference."

Both women wiped tears from their cheeks.

They did make a difference. I wanted so much to be able to tell them that.

.

.

.

That night, I went home with Dr. Hodgins and Angela.

I went because I could. Because I was curious. Because I knew that like Booth, Dr. Hodgins and Angela would always return to her, to Dr. Brennan.

There was a daycare in the museum and it was there Angela went to pick up their son. I sat next to him as we traveled to their home. He was awake and his little hand waved at me in a tiny fist and he was beautiful.

Their home suited them. It was warm and inviting, with splashes of bright color on the walls from the artwork I knew Angela had created and on one wall, a long glass tank filled with plants and wood that I refused to get close to. Dr. Hodgins worked with bugs, that was all I needed to know about that tank.

They laughed a lot, the two of them, and they teased each other. He watched her when she didn't know it - when she held the baby or fed the baby or when she stretched out on the floor for yoga. He stood in the doorway of their son's nursery for a long time before she knew he was there, lost as she was sketching their child as he slept.

"We have a camera, you know," he finally said. Softly, so he wouldn't disturb their baby.

Angela had a way of smiling before she smiled that was soft and pretty. "Wait until you see the one I did while you slept."

He crouched beside her and looked at the pad on her lap, at the moment captured in charcoal, a sleeping infant shown through the wooden bars of his crib with his head turned toward them and the fingers of one hand in his mouth.

"The luckiest day of my life was when Brennan met you at that street fair," Dr. Hodgins whispered. His eyes were moist when he looked at her and the light around them danced and sparkled and filled the room with a golden haze.

She reached out and cupped his cheek, leaving a trace of black under her fingertips, and kissed him until he straightened and took her hand and led her from the room.

I sat on the floor next to the crib, watching the baby sleep and listening to the sound of him breathe and coo and murmur. When he woke up in the middle of the night, I slipped my fingers through the bars of his crib and wiggled them near his face. He could see me. His little hand batted at mine and as he stared at me, I sang to him in whispers until his eyes drifted shut again.

And that was the end of the first day.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Robert Burns, Man was Made to Mourn: A Dirge, 1784


	18. Waiting

**_The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.  
John Vance Cheney_ **

.

.

.

The second day was a long day of waiting. Angela was home with her baby but the rest were busy with their usual routine. It was probably a normal day for everyone else. For me, the hours passed slowly.

I wandered aimlessly around the museum, watching everyone work. I was looking over Dr. Saroyan's shoulder when she pulled a fragile strand of my hair from the brush TJ had saved. I was beside Dr. Hodgins when he opened Abe's book and spread the seam wide under a bright lens. I watched the others, too, the ones I didn't know, those who toiled in the background at computers and microscopes. And I watched Dr. Brennan as she worked quietly at her desk.

Late in the day, Dr. Saroyan delivered a thin folder and Dr. Hodgins returned Abe's book, and they stood in front of her and described in detail what they'd learned from the tests they'd run. I didn't pay much attention because I already knew the truth. I knew it was my hair in the brush and my hair in the dirt and even though I hadn't read it, I knew what Abe had written. I also knew that no matter what words he had used, reality was worse.

Finally, the long day ended and on this second night of waiting, I chose to go home with Dr. Brennan again. She had driven herself that morning, in the little silver sports car I'd seen in the garage on that first evening. It was strange to think that had happened only a few days ago. She had been so fragile that night. The details of my life had opened the wounds of hers, and her sadness had bled into Booth. I still felt guilty for having caused her so much pain.

But tonight was different. She was relaxed and at ease, and she hummed a little song in the silence of the drive home. Once there, she walked through the dark rooms switching on lights, chasing away the shadows and filling the space with a warm glow. I heard the ring of a phone as she headed down the hallway to her bedroom and then the quiet murmur of her voice floating on the air. She came out wearing a pair of soft grey leggings and a loose red blouse that floated over the curve of her belly. She went to the kitchen first and when she returned to the living room, a glass of ice water clinked in her hand. She picked up a magazine and stretched out on the sofa with it propped on her chest but within minutes, it dropped to the floor and her head fell to the side and she was asleep.

She slept through the sound of a key turning in the lock and Booth's struggle to balance a flat cardboard box full of white takeout containers while he locked the door behind him. I knew when the silence hit him because his chin went up and he stood absolutely still, his eyes tracking the open space from the kitchen to the long hallway to the living room before finally narrowing on the ice water sitting on the coffee table. His steps were quiet when he approached the couch and peeked over the back. The slow smile that crossed his face at the sight of Dr. Brennan sleeping brightened the light that curled and danced between them. He put the box of food in the kitchen, then disappeared down the hall and when he came back, his jacket and tie were gone and his sleeves were rolled to the elbow and he looked relaxed and at home.

He gathered utensils and napkins and plates and arranged them at the table before he tiptoed to the sofa. He placed one hand beside her head and laid the other gently on the swell of his child and pressed his lips to her forehead. She murmured wordlessly and covered the hand on her belly with hers as her lashes fluttered open.

"I fell asleep."

"Mmm hmmm. Do you want to sleep some more or eat?" His knees cracked when he crouched down beside her.

Her eyes wandered over his face as she looked at him with a soft, drowsy smile. Sparks sizzled when his fingers trailed over her cheek, leaving behind trails of diamond dust that glittered against her skin.

"I'll get up. Have you been home long?"

"Just long enough." He leaned closer and kissed her and the glow was a halo that surrounded them as he pulled back until their noses touched in a different kind of kiss. "How's my baby girl?"

Dr. Brennan chuckled. "It might be a boy."

"Caroline says it's a girl. I'm going to let her have this one."

Her laughter came again as she pushed herself upright and then allowed Booth to pull her to her feet.

"Is she speaking to you now?"

"We kissed and made up." He added that grin I found so charming, the one that pulled an answering smile from Dr. Brennan. "She loves me."

This was their version of normal, I thought, as I watched the two of them. The teasing banter. The questions that were asked with just a lift of an eyebrow. The laughter that came without effort.

I was struck suddenly with how much I didn't know about them. There were a million questions I'd never be able to ask. How did they meet? What was their first kiss like? When did they know they were in love? What kind of mother would she be? Did he worry about being a good father? Did she cry at sad movies? Did he sing in the shower?

I wanted to know everything.

I could feel it running out, the time I had left here. It wasn't enough. I should have been grateful for these extra moments, these small peeks into their life, but it wasn't enough. I wanted more.

As the night continued, it was inevitable that they'd talk about me. Dr. Brennan explained what she'd been told by Dr. Saroyan and Dr. Hodgins and Booth filled her in on what he and the other agents had discovered. When she asked about the plan to pick up all five of my attackers at once, he glossed quickly through an outline of the details.

But not quickly enough. We both heard what he didn't say.

"I don't understand." Dr. Brennan put down her fork and looked at him. "The other agents are going in pairs but you're going alone to bring in Marcus?"

He shrugged, took a drink of his beer and avoided looking at her.

"I only want to ask him some questions. It will be fine."

The light around her spiked sharply. "You read Abe's book. You know what this man is capable of."

"I'm not a 15-year old girl."

"No, of course not but he's still dangerous. What if he resists arrest?"

The curve of his lips couldn't in any way be described as a smile and it matched the flat steel of his gaze.

"Oh, I hope he does," Booth murmured. "I really hope he does."

"Booth . . ." Her voice trailed off but her worried eyes remained on him. Tendrils of color wound between them, surrounding him with her concern.

He blinked and his eyes cleared and were warm and loving as he looked at her. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

"Relax, Bones. Everything's fine."

She nodded, but a frown furrowed her brow as she picked up her fork again.

She didn't see the harsh expression on his face as he raised the beer to his lips and stared off into the distance.

.

.

.

When the remains of the meal were cleared away, they carried their drinks back to the sofa. She picked up the magazine she'd started reading earlier and he turned on the TV and scanned through different channels without settling on anything in particular and pretended not to notice the frequent looks she sent his way. Finally, Dr. Brennan dropped the magazine on the table and turned to face him.

"I believe we should discuss further this idea of yours to arrest Marcus on your own."

Booth threw the remote on top of her magazine and pulled her across his lap.

"Technically, I'm just going to bring him in for questioning. The arrest will come after that." His lips nuzzled against her neck as he spoke. The glow around them began to pulse and hum, vibrating with energy.

"Booth," she said, as his hands slipped under her shirt. "You're trying to distract me."

"Uh huh." He caught her lips in a kiss that even I felt the heat from. I smiled to myself and turned away and wandered over to the door that led to the balcony outside.

"You are using sex to distract me from expressing my concern for your safety." She spoke from behind me, her voice husky and low. I could hear the sounds of more kissing and then she whispered, "I feel obligated to tell you that this will only work for a little while."

"Only a little while?" I knew he was smiling. "Bones, I'm insulted."

.

.

I slipped out to the balcony and pretended I could feel the breeze blowing against my face and ruffling my hair. I stared for a long time at the lights from the cars below and the city spread out around me and allowed myself a moment of what if.

What if my life had been different?

What if I'd chosen to stay home that afternoon three years ago?

What if I'd been allowed to grow up, to have a life of my own?

What if I'd fallen in love?

What if someone had loved me back?

What if I had a future?

When I looked behind me, the room behind me was dark and empty and quiet. I stayed on the balcony, listening to the faint sound of the world below me drift up with the wind.

There was no such thing as what if.

.


	19. Fear

**_Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.  
Pema Chodron_ **

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.

.

He dropped us at the museum the next morning. After the car stopped, Dr. Brennan stared at him for a long time.

"Booth . . ." Worry and concern shadowed her face.

"It's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine." He tried that smile again, the one that usually worked, that deflected attention from him and put others at ease.

But it didn't work. Not this morning.

She grabbed the lapel of his suit.

"Promise me, Booth. Promise me you won't get hurt." Her voice was low and insistent, her eyes bored into his. Deep shades of crimson tinted the golden light that connected them, dancing around him, flowing from her, thin ribbons of sparkling white adding to the glitter. "Promise me, Booth."

His head tilted and a small smile lifted one side of his mouth. He leaned toward her and cupped one hand around her cheek and kissed her softly.

"Baby," he whispered. "It will all be fine. I promise."

She took a deep breath and released the hold she hand on his jacket. She opened her door and got out but bent to look back at him once more.

"You'll call me," she said.

He offered her another of those half-smiles and lifted the hand that rested on the back of the seat where she'd been. She nodded and walked away but stopped once to look back. He was still sitting there. I couldn't see his face clearly but he stayed there, watching her, until she went inside.

But he never really answered her. He didn't give her the assurances she asked for, he didn't make the promises she wanted. I watched him drive away with that thought repeating in my head.

He hadn't answered her.

.

.

.

It was a difficult morning. Dr. Brennan was edgy and sharp with everyone. Her comments were so abrupt and harsh that finally, they all left her alone and with nothing else to do, she paced back and forth in her office. Every few minutes she picked up her phone and stared at it. Twice she hit a button and listened to it ring and then tossed it to her desk with a nervous growl.

Around mid-morning, Angela's head appeared around the corner of the door.

"Sweetie, this has got to stop." She stepped fully inside the office. "You know Booth can take care of himself. No little loser like this Marcus guy is going to be able to . . ."

Dr. Brennan glared at the silent phone.

"He's been hurt before, Angela. He's not indestructible."

"I'm sure he'll call before . . ."

"No." She shook her head. "I asked him to call but he didn't say that he would. He didn't promise me." She crossed her arms over her chest and began to pace again. "He didn't promise."

"Brennan." Angela stopped the restless walking by stepping in Dr. Brennan's path and grabbing her shoulders. "This is what he does. This is who he is. He knows how to take care of himself. He knows what he's doing."

I felt her tears like a punch in the gut.

"I've called and he's not answering, Angela. He's not answering."

"There could be any number of reasons for that. Maybe he's in the bathroom. Maybe he's staking out this guy. Who knows?" Angela shrugged. "There's no point in borrowing trouble so stop it. Let's go out to the break tables, I'll make you a cup of tea and you can relax. Okay?"

She didn't even try to hide her fear. "I'm worried, Ange."

"I know, honey." Angela pulled her into an embrace. "And when he does call, you can yell at him because he made you worry and I'll pretend I didn't hear anything. Doesn't that sound good?"

Dr. Brennan laughed like she didn't want to and nodded.

"I would appreciate a cup of hot tea."

She grabbed her phone and allowed herself to be led out of her office to a small recessed area that overlooked the platform where they worked with the bones of people like me. Everyone was sitting there and smiled when she approached.

"I would like to apologize for allowing my anxiety to affect our interactions today," Dr. Brennan said hesitantly. "It has been an . . . unsettling morning."

They shrugged off her apology as Angela disappeared and then returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea. After a moment of awkward silence, Dr. Saroyan asked Angela about the baby and the conversation flowed from there, from babies to movies to the morning's news. It seemed a long time later when Mr. Bray looked toward the steps.

"Dr. Brennan."

Booth was walking up the last few stairs. Dr. Brennan's eyes closed and the tension left her with a breath of expelled air that was the whisper of his name. She stood up and studied him from head to toe.

"You changed your shirt."

"What?" He looked down at his chest, his hands raised. "It's just a white shirt." He shook his head but I caught the grimace that crossed his face.

"No, the collar is different. That is not the shirt you wore this morning. Why have you changed your shirt, Booth?"

The people behind her exchanged hidden smiles.

Dr. Brennan pushed Booth's suit coat down low on his arms and ran her hands across his chest and stomach and over his shoulders. He tried to step out of her reach.

"Bones, what are you . . ."

"You changed your shirt." Her tone was still sharp as she flipped his tie out of the way and started to open the buttons. "I am searching for any sign or injury or any other indication that you might have been harmed in some way."

At the table, they looked anywhere but at each other and fought to hold back laughter.

Booth caught her fingers in his and held them against his chest.

"I am not hurt, okay? Bones, look at me." Brown eyes stared into blue and that beautiful shimmer of light was back, falling like a curtain of pixie dust around them. "I am not hurt," he repeated slowly. "Okay?"

She stared for a moment at the smooth, unbroken skin of his hands where they gripped hers. "Then why are you wearing a different shirt?"

He shrugged his coat back onto his shoulders and refastened the buttons she'd managed to undo.

"Booth?"

Behind them, forgotten, their audience listened avidly.

He stuck his hands in his pockets. "It got dirty."

"How."

He lifted one shoulder. "Marcus didn't appreciate my . . . invitation."

She stared at him and waited.

"He ran."

Her arms crossed over her chest.

"Then he tripped."

One arched brow rose. "He tripped."

That small shrug. "He tripped."

"And that soiled your shirt."

"He might have hit the wall."

"Might have."

"Face first."

"Booth . . ."

"He might have broken his nose. There was a lot of blood."

"Booth . . ."

"I helped him up. My shirt was stained. I changed it." His face was shuttered and hard.

Dr. Brennan took a deep breath.

"He ran. He tripped. He hit his face against the wall and broke his nose. And you got blood on your shirt."

"That's what's in my report," he said simply. Behind them, Dr. Hodgins and Mr. Bray bumped fists.

She nibbled at her lower lip. "Does Caroline know?"

"She told him he should wear better shoes when he runs."

A smothered laugh from Dr. Saroyan interrupted the private moment they had been sharing. When they glanced back at the table, everyone cheered.

"So you got them all?" From Dr. Hodgins.

Booth nodded.

"A broken nose?" Mr. Bray smiled.

"Running is a dangerous sport," Booth said seriously.

"If you have them all at the FBI, why are you here?" Dr. Saroyan asked.

"I'm giving them a few minutes to collect their thoughts," he said, and then smiled at Dr. Brennan. "And play 'I Spy'. I thought you might like to be there when I broil them."

"I thought you said the expression was 'grill' them?" Her brow furrowed and then cleared. "Oh . . . . you're making a joke."

"A little one," he grinned back. "So? Want to go with me?"

"Yes," she said adamantly. "I would very much like to be there."

.


	20. Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Sexual assault and sexual violence

**_The most important question in the world is, 'Why is the child crying?'  
Alice Walker_ **

.

.

.

_"So? Want to go with me?"  
"Yes," she said adamantly. "I would very much like to be there."_

I heard those words and a cold fist clenched around the heart I no longer had. I didn't hear the rest of the conversation, the chatter as the group stood and gathered the remains of their morning break. The break they'd created just for Dr. Brennan, to distract her from the worry they all saw.

Booth had them, the men who'd killed me. All of them.

A roar of unidentifiable sound filled my ears and blocked everything else. My thoughts scattered. I couldn't think. I couldn't concentrate. He had them. He had put them in separate rooms and left them alone to worry about what the others might be saying. There, those words, that thought. Something I could hold onto.

He had them.

I tried to follow Booth and Dr. Brennan but I couldn't move. I saw them walk briskly to her office. I watched every step they took and gave orders to my feet but I couldn't move.

He had them.

They were coming out of her office and his hand was on her back. I should follow them. I tried. He has them. She's going. Dr. Brennan. She'll be there. I should be there. I should follow them . . . I should . . .

_"Hey, pretty girl, you need a ride?"  
Don't look. Ignore them. Keep walking.  
"Don't be like that, pretty thing. Come on, get in, we'll give you a ride."  
Don't look. Just don't look.  
"You sure have pretty hair, baby."  
Head down. Walk faster. Don't look. Just ignore them.  
"Annie!"  
An involuntary look over. How do they know my name? Justin. Homeroom._

I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

They're going downstairs I need to catch up Abe and TJ were so brave they came that book Abe heard and TJ saved my picture they were so scared I can't breathe I'm dead I can't move so hard to breathe it hurts move faster catch up he has them he has them all

_Brakes squeal.  
Car doors slam.  
They're all around, circling.  
Walk faster. Head down. Walk faster.  
Head jerks back.  
He grabbed my hair.  
"We're offering you a ride, baby."  
Low voice. Mean eyes.  
"Get in the fucking car, bitch."  
"No, please . . ."_

He has them all I should be there make them admit she'll be there he will too they can't hurt me anymore he won't let them hurt me again so scared Abe and TJ brave they were brave they were scared and they were brave TJ was alone for so long I can't move my feet won't move catch up catch up they'll see me I can't I don't want to see them hurry hurry can't breathe can't breathe

_Back seat. Crowded. Too many.  
"Please, I won't tell."  
Laughter. Fabric ripping. Screaming.  
Zipper opens. Marcus yelling.  
"Watch what the fuck y'all doing back there! I'm busting that bitch, I already said!"  
Fist striking. Whimper.  
"You bite me, fucking cunt, and I'll knock your fucking head off."  
Gagging. Harsh breathing._

Downstairs they're talking stopping she's having a baby he has them all I don't want to see them again she's having a baby I sang a song the baby boy I sang to him and Angela drew a picture move faster catch up strong I have to be strong Abe and TJ my hair nailed to a wall TJ had nightmares so scared they were so scared but they came and Abe wrote it down

_"My turn, my turn, give her here."  
"Please, I won't tell, please."  
Crying.  
Laughter.  
"This is what that hair's good for, watch this."  
Cry of pain.  
"Hurry up, man, it's my turn."  
Sobbing.  
"Please, I won't tell."_

Catch up they're walking again they'll leave me I should be there he has them all he has them all I don't want to see them don't make me see them make it stop make it stop I don't want to remember make it stop can't breathe can't breathe heart pounding how can I feel my heart pounding so scared don't make me go don't make me go don't make me go

_Brakes squeal. Doors open.  
Rough hands. Cold air.  
Kick. Fight. Scream.  
No one hears.  
Fists strike.  
Jeans pulled off.  
Crying, begging.  
"Look at me, bitch."  
Please.  
Please.  
Hand over my mouth.  
Bite down.  
Backhanded hard blow.  
Blood.  
"My turn, Marcus, get the fuck off."  
"Look at him, fucking cunt!"  
"My turn."  
"My turn."  
Laughter.  
No more.  
No more.  
No more fighting.  
It doesn't hurt anymore.  
"We're done with you, bitch."_

They're leaving she's having a baby she was so afraid for him he has them they're all there he brought them there she shouldn't go he'll make them tell what they did don't go don't go don't make me go she's having a baby I hope it's a girl I loved Abe and TJ so good so brave Miss Dottie is nice so brave TJ saved the drawing the door is closing I can't go don't make me go don't make me go I can't I can't I can't I can't . . .

There was a whisper of movement and then the old guide was in front of me. I could feel the body I didn't have shaking. I felt the real sting of tears on my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I can't . . . I know I should be stronger . . . Abe and TJ were so brave . . . I can't. I'm sorry."

His eyes were gentle and sad. "You have endured much, child. There is no shame in refusing this."

There was a flicker, a hint of light behind me and when I turned they were there. The others. They'd left the room where their bones were stored. I didn't know they could do that. They were there with me, surrounding me, circling me where I stood frozen, facing the sliding glass doors that led to the outside world.

They moved in unison, taking turns as they slipped in close and whispered words of support and praise and love. Hands grazed my cheek or touched my shoulder or brushed my hair and with each gesture, the darkness and sorrow I'd carried with me for so long began to disappear. The pain and anguish and fear that lurked inside me faded. They carried it away, these lost souls, and replaced it with something else. A memory of laughter, a moment of happiness, a few seconds of peace. They filled me with bits of their spirits until I felt . . . whole. Until the memory of my death and the pain of my last moments alive became nothing more than an indistinct shadow. It was part of me, but it was no longer all of me.

The dead had made me whole.

.

.

The workday continued. Dr. Brennan and Booth didn't return.

The day ended but no one went home. Angela left for a few minutes and came back with her son and everyone gathered around and passed him back and forth.

And they waited.

Another hour passed and although nothing was said, they gathered in Dr. Brennan's office. Dr. Hodgins and Mr. Bray left and came back with dinner and everyone ate and spoke in low voices and cast occasional glances at watches and phones. I stayed in the shadows of the corner, watching.

Suddenly, they were back. Dr. Brennan looked tired and worn and Booth's face was tight and I was sorry for what I knew they'd had to hear.

There was a beat of silence and then everyone spoke at once as they shifted in their seats and pulled in more chairs.

"Are you hungry?"  
"We bought extra, have some."  
"Do you need something to drink?

The two of them, my champions, waved off the offers of sustenance.

"I don't think I could eat," Dr. Brennan said quietly. Booth held her hand and the warm glow of his concern enveloped her. She breathed deeply and added, "Later. I'll eat something later." And he was appeased.

Another moment of silence passed and then Angela shifted the baby in her arms.

"Well?"

Booth leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him and cracked his neck twice.

"We have two confessions and three who want to do things the hard way. One was a juvenile when the crime occurred. He broke first, thought he'd get a pass because of his age."

"Will he?" Mr. Bray asked.

"Not if Caroline has anything to do with it." Booth's smile was hard. "They've been a busy bunch, these guys, and pinning this on them should be enough to lock them up for a while."

"And the Marcus guy?" Angela bounced her son against her shoulder.

"Ah, Marcus." Booth leaned forward to look at the food containers. "We left him for last. I don't think he appreciated the wait."

"He attacked Booth. . ." Dr. Brennan began, but when he caught her eye, she stopped and restarted. "He fell. Again."

"Tripped, Bones." Booth's grin was cocky as he sat back in his chair. "He tripped again."

"He's quite clumsy," she agreed primly, and they smiled at each other as the colors of the rainbow danced in the room.

"The search warrants are being prepared right now," Booth added. "They should be ready in an hour or so."

"I told Booth and Caroline that we would process the evidence recovered."

"Of course," Dr. Saroyan nodded. "We should be the ones to finish this."

A phone beeped as everyone else agreed. Angela looked at the display and stood up.

"I'll be right back," she said. "Don't go anywhere."

While she hurried out, I watched and listened and tried to enjoy what I knew were the last moments I would have with them. I would miss these warriors for the dead. They hadn't just given me justice. They'd given me peace.

When Angela came back, she wasn't alone.

"I'm sure you all remember Avalon."  
.


	21. Gratitude

**_"Tell me one last thing," said Harry. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"_ **

**_"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"_ **

**_JK Rowling_ **

.

.

.

Dr. Brennan face was disbelieving as she looked at Angela.

"Angela, did you bring her here because of what we discussed in your office?"

Angela was defiant.

"Yes. I didn't say anything, though. I just want to know what Avalon thinks."

The blonde woman stared between them thoughtfully.

"I seem to be missing something." She smiled playfully at the woman who had worked so hard for me. "Hello again, Temperance, Agent Booth."

"This is ridiculous! She can't . . ."

"She was right about the bodies under the fountain." Angela shifted her son higher on her shoulder. "Explain that."

Dr. Brennan glanced at Avalon. "That I can't immediately identify a rational explanation doesn't mean there isn't one."

"Seems to me I was right about more than just the fountain." Avalon's tone was smug when she nodded at Dr. Brennan and Booth, sitting in chairs they'd pulled side-by-side. In case anyone mistook her meaning, she added a pointed look at the obvious swell of a pregnant belly.

From where I sat in the shadows I could see Booth's profile when he grinned and stretched his arm along the back of Dr. Brennan's chair. The twinkle of happiness around him combined with the sizzle of irritation around her was intriguing so I moved closer to get a better view.

When I moved out of the shadows, Avalon's head swiveled toward me. Her mouth fell open as she took a step in my direction.

"Avalon?" The question came from Angela. Around us, the room fell quiet.

There was a flicker of movement beside me and when I glanced over, the old guide was there. He stared at Avalon, whose gaze was fixed in the general area where we stood.

Then he smiled at me.

"This is a gift." His deep voice rumbled in the silence.

I was confused.

"What do you mean?"

"She sees," he said simply.

"She can see us?" I stared back and forth between them, the woman slowly moving closer to us and my guide, who stood beside me.

He nodded. "She sees our presence."

"But so does Angela. She heard me talking to her." I looked at the dark haired woman who'd given me a face. Her son's head snuggled into the curve of her neck as she patted his back and watched Avalon.

The guide shook his head. "The artist-mother feels. This one," he smiled mysteriously, "she sees."

My eyes tracked the woman who was still inching forward. Her gaze was focused on a point over my shoulder instead of directly at me.

"Are you sure she can see us?"

He lifted one shoulder. "There are many ways to see."

Avalon came to a halt just a few feet from me. After a second's hesitation, I moved over so that I stood directly in front of her and raised my right hand with the palm facing out. She blinked, took a deep breath and mirrored my movement with her left hand. I lowered mine until only centimeters separated our fingers. Then I touched her.

Her gasp reverberated in the hushed stillness. It felt as if the room held its collective breath as everyone watched her, standing there, hand upraised, eyes shut. When her arm finally lowered, she made a fist of the hand that had touched mine and clutched it to her chest.

"She felt it." Amazed, I spun around. "Is that what you meant by a gift? That I could touch her?"

He shook his head. "No, child. Watch."

Avalon was looking at Angela. "Is this why you asked me to come here?"

"You felt it, too?"

Avalon crossed the office quickly, took a seat in the middle of the sofa and attacked the coffee table, stacking the magazines and journals and passing empty plates and food containers to anyone nearby. Everyone watched in silence when she pulled an oversized handbag into her lap and fished out a silk-wrapped bundle of ornately decorated cards.

A thought occurred to me. "She's a fortune teller?"

The guide chided me with a look. "She sees. She speaks through the cards."

Avalon shuffled and reshuffled the cards with a focused intensity . . . and suddenly, I knew.

I looked into the wise, ancient eyes.

"Can she speak for me? She can, can't she? She can see me . . . she knows I'm here! She speak for me!" The words caught in my throat when I looked at the woman who'd done so much for me. "I can say thank you. I can let her know how much it means to me . . ."

He was smiling when he nodded. "This is your gift."

The thought almost overwhelmed me.

Dr. Brennan glanced at Booth, the man whose child grew within her. She rolled her eyes and made a face. I already knew that she didn't believe I was here with her but I clung to the hope that if I just had a chance, if somehow I could talk to her, surely she would hear me. Surely then she would believe.

Avalon finished shuffling the cards and spread them out in a wide arc across the table.

"How?" I stared hungrily at the cards. "What do I do?"

"Go to her, to the one who sees," my guide instructed. "Sit beside her. Your presence will influence the cards. They will speak for you."

Dr. Brennan was now sitting with her arms crossed. Her scornful expression made me nervous.

"I don't think she wants to do this. What if she refuses?"

"She will not refuse. Go."

I moved swiftly across the room, to the sofa beside Avalon. I was sitting directly across from them, Dr. Brennan and Booth, the man and woman who'd fought to give me justice. His arm was around the back of her chair and the glittering, golden net of light surrounded them again.

"Pick a card." Avalon's fingers fluttered over the deck.

Dr. Brennan frowned. "What? No. I don't believe in this. Besides, that isn't even a Tarot layout."

The blonde smiled. "Sounds like you've been doing your research."

Dr. Brennan looked a little self-conscious. "I will admit that yes, after your sister's murder I did delve somewhat into their history."

I heard a smothered cough and looked up to see Angela covering her mouth.

"Nothing," she said. "Just dust . . . in my throat . . ." The kiss she pressed into her son's curls didn't quite hide the smile on her lips.

"Well, you're right, Temperance." Avalon continued as if the interruption hadn't happened. "This isn't a Tarot layout, but this isn't a reading, either. This is a message."

"A message?" Dr. Brennan was as skeptical and mistrusting as I'd feared. "I don't accept that. I don't accept messages from cards or whispers in my head or . . . or . . . or laughter in empty rooms."

Booth's head swiveled in her direction. I wondered if they were both remembering when they'd heard my laughter in the quiet of this very room.

Whatever he heard in her voice was enough that he tried to intervene.

"Avalon . . ."

"Always protecting her, aren't you, Agent Booth?" Avalon smiled but her eyes were gentle. "You need to do this, Dr. Brennan. Trust me. You need to do this."

 _Please, please._ I couldn't help begging as I watched the battle of wills between the two women. _Please . . ._

I wasn't surprised when it was Booth's influence that tipped the scales. The arm that had rested behind her lifted, shifted, then his hand rested on her knee and she turned to him. They had another silent conversation, the two of them, just as I'd watched happen so many times in the short while I'd known them. They had a way of shutting everything and everyone out until it was just him and her and whatever passed without words between them. When his head tilted toward Avalon, I relaxed.

And Avalon smiled.

"Pick a card, Dr. Brennan."

Thoughts . . . words and phrases . . . filled my head as I waited for her choice. I tried to focus everything I wanted to tell her into the cards, to create a message that she'd understand. Finally, she chose and turned one face up.

Avalon smiled again.

"Temperance."

Dr. Brennan rolled her eyes.

"That's the same card you chose for me when we met."

"But you chose it this time. Temperance is the guide of souls, did you know that? That's what you do, isn't it? You speak for the dead because they can't."

The next card, the Star card, was upside down. Avalon sighed.

"The person who's here . . . it's a young girl, isn't it?" She looked up at Angela, who nodded. "Her life was turned upside down. Her dreams were destroyed, her future was altered forever."

 _The Ten of Cups._ "But she made her own happiness. She found a new family, people who loved her."

 _The Wheel of Fortune._ Avalon's fingers brushed against the edge of the card.

"Fate stepped in again. Everything she had, everything she'd made out of her life, it was all taken away."

Suddenly, it struck me how quiet the room had become. Everyone was watching . . . standing . . . staring . . . but no one was talking. With the next card, it seemed as if they all drew the same breath.

_The Devil._

Tears glittered in Avalon's eyes. "So much pain," she whispered. "She suffered."

Dr. Brennan reached quickly for another card. I understood. I wanted to move past those memories, too.

She placed the Four of Wands, upside down, beside the others.

"She found . . . peace," Avalon whispered. "She missed her life, she missed the people she loved. But she was surrounded by sunlight and grass and trees and she . . . she was at peace."

_The Chariot._

Avalon smiled at the couple sitting across from us.

"And then you found her. You brought her here and she's still here, watching you fight for her."

I followed Avalon's gaze as she looked around the room and let my words pour out of her.

"She's been watching you and she knows how much you care. She knew that you would find the truth, that you would give her a face and a name. She knew that you would tell the world what happened to her and that you would do all of that because it was the right thing to do." Avalon paused and looked at Dr. Brennan. "She knew she mattered."

"Anne." It was the first time Dr. Brennan had spoken since she'd scoffed at the card that bore her name. "Annie. Her name was Annie."

I saw Booth turn toward her, saw his fingers grab and squeeze hers, remind her that he was right there beside her. The light around them shimmered and pulsed and settled over them. Dr. Brennan took a deep breath and the tension in her shoulders relaxed.

"Annie created another family," Avalon told them. "From you. From all of you."

Without warning, she suddenly leaned forward and began to pick cards at random. Her nails tapped against the tabletop as she turned them over.

 _The Hierophant, upside down._ "You, Angela."

 _The Page of Pentacles._ "Mr. Bray."

 _The Hermit._ "Dr. Saroyan."

 _The Emperor._ "Jack."

From the corner of my eye I saw Dr. Hodgins nudge Angela.

"The Emperor," he murmured. "King of the Lab."

She threw a shoulder against his. "Shhhhh!"

 _King of Wands._ "Seeley."

 _The High Priestess._ "You, Temperance."

Another card snapped to the table.

 _Strength._ "You're all here. She claimed each of you as part of her new family. Because of your hard work, Annie has a name. Because of your determination, she'll have justice."

_The Lovers._

"There is so much love here. The love you all feel for each other, for the victims. She felt it and it helped to heal her spirit. You gave Annie peace. She's been here with you all along, watching you, and she wanted to say thank you."

Avalon smiled across the cards at Dr. Brennan.

"She's dazzled by you, too."

I didn't understand what that meant but I watched this woman who meant so much to me as her eyes fluttered before she slanted a glance toward Booth. Then her jaw firmed and her face tightened and I knew . . . I knew she was going to reject everything she'd heard, everything I'd tried to tell her. My heart ached.

Behind her, my guide stepped forward.

 _"Please."_ I was begging again but I didn't care. I only had one chance. Just this one.

When he closed his eyes I thought all was lost.

Then I felt warmth flood through me. It tingled up from my toes, like blood rushing through a cramped limb. I didn't understand what it meant until I heard Dr. Saroyan gasp . . . when I looked at her, she was looking at me.

She was looking _at me._ As if she could see me.

I spun around. Mr. Bray's mouth was hanging open. Dr. Hodgins' eyes were wide and fixed and Angela's were wet and shimmering.

The heart I didn't have began to race. If they could see me . . .

Booth was staring at me with a sense of wonder, his lips curving up with the beginnings of a smile.

Only one person mattered, though. I steeled myself and turned to Dr. Brennan.

She could see me.

For the first time I was able to look directly into her eyes. I didn't even try to hide my reaction. I wanted her to know how happy I was, what this moment meant to me. Our gazes locked. I nodded once, briefly. I saw her tears . . . and she saw mine.

It lasted only a fraction of a second.

She saw me.

I know she did.

I whispered into the room. _"Thank you."_

She heard me.

I know she did.

The chirp of a phone shocked everyone. Booth jumped in his chair and grabbed it out of his pocket.

With a sweeping rush, the tingling warmth left my body and just like that, my gift was gone.

The loss cut through me like a brittle wind.

But I knew it had happened. I knew, for that one infinitesimal moment in time, I had been real again. And she had seen me.

Whispers buzzed in the room.

"Did you . . ."  
"I thought I saw . . ."  
"Was that . . ."

Booth coughed and stood, holding up his phone. He looked at Dr. Brennan.

"The search warrants are ready. I've got to go. Avalon, this has been . . ." He glanced at the spot where I still sat, invisible once again. "Yea. Uh . . . thanks." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Hodgins, will you and Angela take Bones home?"

"Yea, sure, of course."

Dr. Brennan sat unmoving as Avalon gathered up her cards. Everyone else kept sneaking looks toward my spot on the sofa but she just stared down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She only joined the conversation again when Booth put his hand on her shoulder and spoke directly to her.

"Bones? Is that okay? They'll take you home?"

"Yes," she nodded. "That's fine. I'm fine. Yes, that sounds fine." She got to her feet.

Booth looked at her with concern but she just smiled and smoothed the lapels of his jacket.

"Okay." He kissed her cheek. "Don't wait up, I might be all night."

Dr. Saroyan interrupted their goodbye.

"No matter what time it is, call me when you're finished. I'll meet the technicians here and take receipt of the evidence. We can start working first thing tomorrow."

"Thanks." Booth looked again at Avalon. She saved him from whatever he'd been about to say.

"Nice seeing you again, Agent Booth." Her dimples showed when she grinned. "Go catch some bad guys."

After another quick kiss from Dr. Brennan, he was gone.

Dr. Saroyan and Mr. Bray left soon after, whispering with their heads together, and then Dr. Hodgins bustled out, too, with a comment tossed over his shoulder about diaper bags and baby toys.

Then it was just Avalon and Angela, facing Dr. Brennan and waiting for her to speak first. She tried to ignore them. She took a deep breath and looked everywhere but at the place where I remained and busied herself replacing the stacks of magazines and papers Avalon had cleared away from the coffee table.

"Brennan?" Angela's voice was hesitant and soft and I thought at first she would ignore it.

"Yes, Angela?" She finally responded, her chin raised stubbornly. Avalon watched both women with a trace of a smile.

"Brennan, you can't pretend that what just happened . . ."

"Nothing happened." She met Angela's gaze defiantly. "Obviously it has been a long day and we are all very tired. This case has been . . . difficult. The specifics are disturbing and have clearly affected us." She glanced at Avalon briefly. "Ms. Harmonia is very talented in the art of Tarot."

Avalon just shrugged.

"You tell yourself whatever you need to tell yourself, Temperance. Your heart knows the truth. Your heart knows Annie."

A few tense seconds passed before Angela sighed.

"I'll show Avalon out and then we'll meet you downstairs."

After they left, Dr. Brennan stood in the middle of the room for several long minutes, her gaze unfocused, before she shook herself out of the moment of reverie. At the door of her office, she hesitated again, one hand on the light switch.

She turned back and swept the room with a glance.

Her quiet voice whispered through the dark as the lights dimmed and she slipped away.

"You're welcome."

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errors in Tarot interpretation are entirely mine and will, I hope, be forgiven.


	22. Epilogue:  Love

**_"To him in whom love dwells, the whole world is but one family."  
Buddha_ **

.

.

.

.

By the time Dr. Brennan arrived the next morning, Dr. Saroyan and Mr. Bray had been working for over an hour. Two polished silver tables were covered in sealed bags of varying sizes. On three others, closed cardboard boxes waited to be opened. Mr. Bray held a clipboard and pen and as Dr. Saroyan recited the number penned on each piece of evidence, he checked off boxes. The two of them turned when a security badge chirped through the scanner.

"Dr. Brennan! It's Saturday morning. I didn't expect to see you."

"Good morning, Dr. Saroyan. I thought I might be able to offer some assistance with the evidence. Booth didn't return until quite late and he's still sleeping. My time is better spent here than sitting at home."

She looked tired and drawn and I thought her time would have been better spent sleeping next to Booth but Dr. Saroyan smiled.

"I don't have any bones but you can help check the inventory list against the contents of the boxes." She waved a hand over the table. "From what we've seen so far, it looks like the suspects kept some of the victim's . . . some of Annie's clothes."

Dr. Brennan picked up a bag which held a pink-checked t-shirt.

"These appear to be blood stains," she said, pointing to a dark, discolored patch. "If we can match the DNA to the victim that would be very helpful to Caroline's prosecution."

"As soon as we've checked the contents of the rest of the boxes, we'll start collecting samples from everything."

More chirping announced Dr. Hodgins' arrival. After greetings were exchanged, Dr. Saroyan pointed him to an unopened box.

The work was quick and efficient and after only a short time, Mr. Bray removed the seal on the last box. He lifted the lid . . . and froze.

"Dr. Brennan." His voice was quiet. "Dr. Saroyan?"

At first glance, it looked like a wig. The bag wasn't long enough to hold my hair stretched out to its full length so the thin swatch was curled around itself, smashed flat against the plastic. Dr. Brennan read off the identification numbers and when Mr. Bray had checked it off on the form, she carried the package to an empty table. After a glance at Dr. Saroyan, she opened it and stretched the long pale rope across the metal surface. As they stood there staring, the old guide appeared beside me.

"It is time."

Somehow, I knew what he meant and I was terrified.

"Now?"

I was afraid to look away from the group around the table, afraid that if I did, they would disappear and I would lose them forever. I glanced over just long enough to see him nod but when I looked back, it was like I had already begun to leave. Dr. Brennan and the others were farther away than they had been only seconds before.

I had a moment of panic.

"Wait! They're not done! Look! They have my hair now, and my clothes! Can't I stay until they're finished? Can't I stay until I know how it ends?"

His silence was my answer and when I glanced back one more time, the distance between us was even greater.

I faced him, ready to beg for another day, another hour . . . anything. Suddenly, over his shoulder I noticed a stone archway. A woman stepped out.

I knew her. I knew her face and the scent of her hair and the touch of her hands.

When tears blurred my vision, I felt them wet against my skin and I knew they were real.

"Mommy?"

My mother smiled and held out her hand.

I took two steps toward her and then, one last time, looked back.

The steps I'd taken separated me even more from the living. They appeared through an open door at the end of a long, shadowed tunnel. It was so far away and the doorway was so small that I couldn't see all of them at once, just glimpses as they passed by. I waited until Dr. Brennan was there, framed in the light, her lips moving as she spoke words I couldn't hear to someone I couldn't see. Her hand rested lightly on the baby growing in her womb.

I knew it was the last time I would see her. My Temperance. My champion, the woman who had claimed me as one of her dead, who had reunited my face and my name with the pieces left of the body that had been mine.

It was goodbye.

Goodbye to the man who watched over her and guarded her and loved her. Goodbye to those she had drawn to her, the ones who worked with her to bring justice for the dead. Goodbye to the people who had become her family . . . the people I had claimed as my family.

I knew I was the only one who would hear it, but I had to say it.

_"Goodbye."_

My mother's voice called to me.

"Annie?"

I went.

.

.

.

.

.

Eleven Weeks Later

It was quiet, as those places always are.

The sound of a car broke the stillness. Doors opened and closed and then there was another car and more doors and then a group of people made their way up the hill, talking in low voices that respected the solemnity of the location.

They stopped at the crest of a small rise. The six adults hung back and formed a line that curved slightly around a grave that had just begun to settle into permanence. Two boys shuffled forward until they stood beside a newly placed headstone. The smallest reached out with a long, thin arm and gently traced the name carved into the polished black granite.

The tombstone was simple in design. Tall, narrow. A name engraved in block, capital letters. A date of birth. A date of death. A few carefully chosen words.

And below those words, a child's drawing reproduced in stone. Three figures . . . a tall and skinny boy holding the hand of a smaller boy who held the hand of a young girl whose long white hair touched the bottom of the drawing. They all smiled happily.

The boys dropped to their knees, then rocked back to sit on the new grass that covered the grave. And then it was the oldest who brushed his fingers against the carved letters and the drawing beneath.

"That was a good thing you did, Bones." Booth nodded toward the headstone.

Brennan lifted one shoulder by way of response. She hadn't done it for praise. He knew that but offered it anyway. Too often, the good things she did, the soft things she did, went unnoticed and unmentioned. This would not.

She threaded her arm through the bend of his elbow and leaned against him. His free hand covered hers as Abe laughed softly at a whispered remark from TJ.

"You know, I've been thinking."

Hodgins' voice drifted through the quiet afternoon.

"The apartment over the garage, it's been empty since . . . well, it's been empty for a long time. It would be nice to have someone living there again."

Angela's eyes were wet when she smiled at him.

"Yes, it would be."

"It is several miles from where he works." Brennan's tone was carefully neutral.

Hodgins cleared his throat self-consciously.

"It would come with a new job. Since Angela and I moved to the condo, no one is on the estate. I could use someone to check the alarms regularly. Keep tabs on the landscaper. Make sure the main house doesn't burn down." With his eyes on the two boys he didn't see the broad grins sent in his direction.

Angela kissed his cheek. "I've always loved the way you think, Jack."

"It sounds like a perfect job for a college student," Dr. Saroyan murmured. "Lots of free time to study." At the questioning looks sent her way, a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Paul went to medical school with the Dean of Admissions at Maryland."

As one, the faces of the adults turned back to the boys sitting beside the grave, talking about the sister they had lost. No one mentioned it but the same thought touched each of them, the memory of a young girl's face staring back and whispering her thanks.

Abe and TJ stood and brushed bits of grass from their jeans as they stepped back from the grave. From above, a brilliant ray of sunlight broke free from a bank of clouds and claimed the polished marker with a halo of light.

.

ANNE ELIZABETH DUNCAN

April 22, 1993 – June 28, 2008

SHE WAS LOVED

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sharing Annie's story with me.


End file.
